THE  GATES  O 
CHANCE 


4 


VAN    TASSEL  SUtPHEN 


OT  CALIF.  UBHARY,  LO*  ANGELES 


The 

Gates  of  Chance 

Bg 

can  Tassel  Sutphen 


Neto  York  and  London 

Harper  &  Brothers  Publishers 


Copyright,  1904,  by  HARPRR  &  BROTHERS. 

All  rights  reserved. 
Published  May,  1904. 


Contents 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  THE  GENTLEMAN'S  VISITING-CARD  ....  i 

II.  THE  RED  DUCHESS 22 

III.  HOUSE  IN  THE  MIDDLE  OF  THE  BLOCK     .     .  40 

IV.  THE  PRIVATE  LETTER-BOX 66 

V.  THE    NlNETY-AND-NINE    KlSSES 90 

VI.  THE  QUEEN  OF  SPADES 115 

VII.  THE  OPAL  BUTTON 141 

VIII.  THE  TIP-TOP  TIP 164 

IX.  THE  BRASS  BAGGAGE-CHECK 190 

X.  THE  UPSET  APPLE-CART 211 

XI.  THE  PHILADELPHIA  QUIZZING-GLASS    .     .     .  239 

XII.  THE  ADJUSTER  OF  AVERAGES 270 

V 


2133423 


THE  GATES  OF  CHANCE 


The  Gentleman's  Visiting-Card 

HE  card  that  had  been  thrust  into 
my  hand  had  pencilled  upon  it,  "Call 
at  4020  Madison  Avenue  at  a  quarter 
before  eight  this  evening."  Below,  in 
copper-plate,  was  engraved  the  name, 
Mr.  Esper  Indiman. 
It  was  one  of  those  abnormally  springlike 
days  that  New  York  sometimes  experiences  at 
the  latter  end  of  March,  days  when  negligee 
shirts  and  last  summer's  straw  hats  make  a 
sporadic  appearance,  and  bucolic  weather 
prophets  write  letters  to  the  afternoon  papers 
abusing  the  sun-spots.  Really,  it  was  hot,  and 
I  was  anxious  to  get  out  of  the  dust  and  glare ; 
it  would  be  cool  at  the  club,  and  I  intended 


The    Gates    of    Chance 

dining  there.  The  time  was  half-past  six,  the 
height  of  the  homeward  rush  hours,  and,  as 
usual,  there  was  a  jam  of  vehicles  and  pedes- 
trians at  the  Fourth  Avenue  and  Twenty- 
third  Street  crossing.  The  subway  contractors 
were  still  £t  work  here,  and  the  available  street 
space  was  choked  with  their  stagings  and 
temporary  footwalks.  The  inevitable  conse- 
quent was  congestion;  here  were  two  of  the 
principal  thoroughfares  of  the  city  crossing 
each  other  at  right  angles,  and  with  hardly 
enough  room,  at  the  point  of  intersection,  for 
the  traffic  of  one.  The  confusion  grew  worse  as 
the  policemen  and  signalmen  stationed  at  the 
crossing  occasionally  lost  their  heads;  every 
now  and  then  a  new  block  would  form,  and 
several  minutes  would  elapse  before  it  could 
be  broken.  In  all  directions  long  lines  of  yel- 
low electric  cars  stood  stalled,  the  impatient 
passengers  looking  ahead  to  discover  the  cause 
of  the  trouble.  A  familiar  enough  experience 
to  the  modern  New-Yorker,  yet  it  never  fails 
to  exasperate  him  afresh. 

The  impasse  looked  hopeless  when  I  reached 
the  scene.  A  truck  loaded  with  bales  of  bur- 
lap was  on  the  point  of  breaking  down  at  the 

2 


The   Gentleman's   Visiting-Card 

crossing,  and  it  was  a  question  of  how  to  get 
it  out  of  the  way  in  the  shortest  possible  time 
consistent  with  the  avoidance  of  the  threatened 
catastrophe.  Meanwhile,  the  jam  of  cars  and 
trucks  kept  piling  up  until  there  was  hardly 
space  for  a  newsboy  to  worm  his  way  from 
one  curb  to  another,  and  the  crowd  on  the 
street  corners  began  to  grow  restive.  They  do 
these  things  so  much  better  in  London. 

Now,  I  detest  being  in  the  mob,  and  I  was 
about  to  back  my  way  out  of  the  crowd  and 
seek  another  route,  even  if  a  roundabout  one. 
But  just  then  the  blockade  was  partially  raised, 
an  opening  presented  itself  immediately  in  front 
of  me,  and  I  was  forced  forward  willy-nilly. 
Arrived  at  the  other  side  of  the  street,  I  drew 
out  of  the  press  as  quickly  as  possible,  and  it 
was  then  that  I  discovered  Mr.  Indiman's 
carte  de  visile  tightly  clutched  in  my  left  hand. 
Impossible  to  conjecture  how  it  had  come  there, 
and  my  own  part  in  the  transaction  had  been 
purely  involuntary;  the  muscles  of  the  palm 
had  closed  unconsciously  upon  the  object  pre- 
sented to  it,  just  as  does  a  baby's.  "Mr.  Es- 
per  Indiman — and  who  the  deuce  may  he  be?" 

The  club  dining-room  was  full,  but  Jeckley 
3 


The    Gates   of    Chance 

hailed  me  and  offered  me  a  seat  at  his  table.  I 
loathe  Jeckley,  and  so  I  explained  politely  that 
I  was  waiting  for  a  friend,  and  should  not  dine 
until  later. 

"  Well,  then,  have  a  cocktail  while  I  am  fin- 
ishing my  coffee,"  persisted  the  beast,  and  I  was 
obliged  to  comply. 

"  I  had  to  feed  rather  earlier  than  usual,"  ex- 
plained Jeckley. 

"Yes,"  I  said,  not  caring  in  the  least  about 
Mr.  Jeckley's  hours  for  meals. 

"  You  see  I'm  doing  the  opening  at  the  Globe 
to-night,  and  I  must  get  my  Wall  Street  copy 
to  the  office  before  the  theatre.  And  what  do 
you  think  of  that  by  way  of  an  extra  assign- 
ment?" He  took  a  card  from  his  pocket-book 
and  tossed  it  over.  It  was  another  one  of  Mr. 
Esper  Indiman's  calling-cards,  and  scrawled  in 
pencil,  "  Call  at  4020  Madison  Avenue  at  eight 
o'clock  this  evening." 

Jeckley  was  lighting  his  cigar,  and  so  did  not 
observe  my  start  of  surprise.  Have  I  said  that 
Jeckley  was  a  newspaper  man?  One  of  the  new 
school  of  journalism,  a  creature  who  would  stick 
at  nothing  in  the  manufacture  of  a  sensation. 
The  Scare-Head  is  his  god,  and  he  holds  noth- 
4 


The   Gentleman's   Visiting-Card 

ing  else  sacred  in  heaven  and  earth.  He  would 
sacrifice  —  but  perhaps  I'm  unjust  to  Jeckley; 
maybe  it's  only  his  bounce  and  flourish  that 
I  detest.  Furthermore,  I'm  a  little  afraid  of 
him ;  I  don't  want  to  be  written  up. 

"Esper  Indiman,"  I  read  aloud.  "Don't 
know  him." 

"Ever  heard  the  name?"  asked  Jeckley. 

I  temporized.     "It's  unfamiliar,  certainly." 

Jeckley  looked  gloomy.  "  Nobody  seems  to 
know  him,"  he  said.  "And  the  name  isn't  to 
be  found  in  the  directory,  telephone-book,  or 
social  register." 

Wonderful  fellows,  these  newspaper  men;  I 
never  should  have  thought  of  going  for  Mr.  In- 
diman like  that. 

"But  why  and  wherefore?"  I  asked,  cau- 
tiously. 

"A  mystery,  my  son.  The  card  was  shoved 
into  my  hand  not  half  an  hour  ago." 

"Where?" 

"At  Twenty-third  and  Fourth.  There  were 
a  lot  of  people  around,  and  I  haven't  the  most 
distant  notion  of  the  guilty  party." 

"What  does  it  mean?" 

Jeckley  shook  his  head. 
5 


The   Gates   of   Chance 

"  What  will  you  do  about  it?" 

"  I  will  make  the  call,  of  course." 

"Of  course!" 

"There  maybe  a  story  there— who  knows. 
Besides,  it's  directly  on  my  way  to  the  Globe, 
and  the  curtain  is  not  until  eight-thirty.  .Tell 
you  what,  old  man ;  come  along  with  me  and  see 
the  thing  to  a  finish.  Fate  leads  a  card — Mr. 
Esper  Indiman's  —  and  we'll  play  the  second 
hand ;  what  do  you  say?" 

I  declined  firmly.  God  forbid  that  I  should 
be  featured,  along  with  the  other  exhibits  in  the 
case,  on  the  first  page  of  to-morrow's  Planet. 

"So,"  he  assented,  indifferently,  and  pushed 
his  chair  back.  "Well,  I  must  push  along — 
Lord !  there's  that  copy — the  old  man  will  have 
it  in  for  me  good  and  plenty  if  I  don't  get  it 
down  in  time.  Adios!"  He  disappeared,  and 
I  let  him  depart  willingly  enough.  Later  on  I 
went  up  to  the  library  for  a  smoke — no  fear  of 
encountering  any  Jeckleys  there,  and,  in  fact, 
the  room  was  entirely  deserted.  I  looked  at 
my  watch ;  it  was  ten  minutes  after  seven,  and 
that  gave  me  a  quarter  of  an  hour  in  which  to 
think  it  over.  Should  I  accept  Mr.  Indiman's 
invitation  to  call? 

6 


The    Gentleman's    Visiting-card 

I  looked  around  for  an  ash-tray,  and,  seeing 
one  on  the  big  writing-table  in  the  centre  of  the 
room,  I  walked  over  to  it. 

There  were  some  bits  of  white  lying  in  the 
otherwise  empty  tray  —  the  fragments  of  a 
torn -up  visiting-card.  A  portion  of  the  en- 
graved script  caught  my  eye,  "Incli — " 

It  was  not  difficult  to  piece  together  the  bits 
of  pasteboard,  for  I  knew  pretty  well  what  I 
should  find.  Completed,  the  puzzle  read,  "  Mr. 
Esper  Indiman,"  and  in  pencil,  "Call  at  4020 
Madison  Avenue  at  half -past  seven  this  even- 
ing." 

So  there  were  three  of  us — if  not  more.  Rath- 
er absurd  this  assignment  of  a  separate  quarter 
of  an  hour  to  each  interview — quite  as  though 
Mr.  Indiman  desired  to  engage  a  valet  and 
we  were  candidates  for  the  position.  Evident- 
ly, an  eccentric  person,  but  it's  a  queer  world 
anyhow,  as  most  of  us  know.  There's  my  own 
case,  for  example.  I'm  supposed  to  be  a  gentle- 
man of  leisure  and  means.  Leisure,  certainly, 
but  the  means  are  slender  enough,  and  proceed- 
ing in  a  diminishing  ratio.  That's  the  pen- 
alty of  having  been  born  a  rich  man's  son  and 
educated  chiefly  in  the  arts  of  riding  off  at  polo 
7 


The    Gates    of    Chance 

and  thrashing  a  single-sticker  to  windward  in 
a  Cape  Cod  squall.  But  I  sha'n't  say  a  word 
against  the  governor,  God  bless  him !  He  gave 
me  what  I  thought  I  wanted,  and  it  wasn't  his 
fault  that  an  insignificant  blood -clot  should 
beat  him  out  on  that  day  of  days — the  corner 
in  "R.  P."  It  was  never  the  Chicago  crowd 
that  could  have  downed  him — I'm  glad  to  re- 
member that. 

Well,  there  being  only  the  two  of  us,  it  didn't 
matter  so  much ;  it  wasn't  as  though  there  were 
a  lot  of  helpless  womenfolk  to  consider.  After 
the  funeral  and  the  settlement  with  the  credi- 
tors there  was  left —  I'm  ashamed  to  say  how 
little,  and,  anyway,  it's  no  one's  business;  the 
debts  were  paid.  What  is  a  man  to  do,  at 
thirty-odd,  who  has  never  turned  his  hand  to 
anything  of  use?  The  governor's  friends? 
Well,  they  didn't  know  how  bad  things  were, 
and  I  couldn't  go  to  them  with  the  truth  and 
make  them  a  present  of  my  helpless,  incom- 
petent self. 

And  so  for  the  last  two  years  I've  been  stick- 
ing it  out  in  a  hall  bedroom,  just  west  of  the 
dead-line.  I  have  a  life  membership  in  the  club 
— what  a  Christmas  present  that  has  turned 
8 


The   Gentleman's  Visiting-Card 

out  to  be ! — and  twice  in  the  week  I  dine  there. 
As  for  the  rest  of  it,  never  mind — there  are 
things  which  a  man  can  do  but  of  which  he 
doesn't  care  to  speak. 

The  future?  Ah,  you  can  answer  that  ques- 
tion quite  as  well  as  I.  Now  I  had  calculated 
that,  at  my  present  rate  of  expenditure,  I  could 
hold  out  until  Easter,  but  there  have  been 
contingencies.  To  illustrate,  I  had  my  pocket 
picked  yesterday  morning.  Amusing — isn't  it? 
— that  it  should  have  been  my  pocket — my 
pocket! 

Fortunately  I  have  stacks  of  clothes  and  some 
good  pearl  shirt  -  studs,  and  I  continue  to  pre- 
sent a  respectable  appearance.  I  shall  always 
do  that,  I  think.  I  don't  like  the  idea  of  the 
pawn-shop  and  the  dropping  down  one  degree 
at  a  time.  If,  in  the  end,  it  shall  be  shown  clear- 
ly that  the  line  is  to  be  crossed,  I  shall  walk  over 
it  quietly  and  as  a  man  should ;  I  object  to  the 
indecency  of  being  dragged  or  carried  across. 
What  line  do  I  mean?  I  don't  know  that  I 
could  tell  you  clearly.  What  is  in  your  own 
mind?  There  is  a  line. 

At  half  after  seven  I  left  the  club,  and  exact- 
ly a  quarter  of  an  hour  later  I  stood  opposite 
9 


The    Gates   of    Chance 

the  doorway  of  No.  4020  Madison  Avenue.  A 
tall  man  was  descending  the  steps;  I  recog- 
nized Bingham,  a  member  of  my  club,  and  re- 
called the  torn-up  visiting-card  that  I  had  found 
in  the  library.  So  Bingham  was  one  of  us. 

Now  I  don't  know  Bingham,  except  by  sight, 
and  I  shouldn't  have  cared  to  stop  and  question 
him,  anyway.  But  I  caught  one  glimpse  of 
his  face  as  he  hurried  away,  and  it  looked  gray 
under  the  electrics.  Call  it  the  effect  of  the 
arc  light,  if  you  like ;  he  was  hurrying,  certain- 
ly, and  it  struck  me  that  it  was  because  he 
was  anxious  to  get  away. 

Many  are  the  motives  that  send  men  into 
adventurous  situations,  but  there  is  at  least  one 
among  them  that  is  compelling — hunger.  I 
have  said  that  I  had  gone  to  the  club  for  dinner ; 
I  did  not  say  that  I  got  it.  To  be  honest,  I 
had  hoped  for  an  invitation — charity,  if  you 
insist  upon  it.  But  I  had  been  unfortunate. 
None  of  my  particular  friends  had  chanced  to 
be  around,  and  Jeckley's  cocktail  had  been  the 
only  hospitality  proffered  me.  You  remem- 
ber that  my  pocket  had  been  picked  yesterday 
morning,  and  since  then  —  well,  I  had  eaten 
nothing.  I  might  have  signed  the  dinner  check, 

IQ 


The   Gentleman's   Yisiting-Card 

you  say.  Quite  true,  but  I  shall  probably  be 
as  penniless  on  the  first  of  the  month  as  I  am 
to-day,  and  then  what?  Too  much  like  help- 
ing one's  self  from  a  friend's  pocket. 

So  it  was  just  a  blind,  primeval  impulse  that 
urged  me  on.  This  Mr.  Indiman  had  chosen 
to  fish  in  muddy  waters,  and  his  rashness  but 
matched  my  necessity.  A  host  must  expect 
to  entertain  his  guests.  I  walked  up  the  steps 
and  rang  the  bell. 

Instantly  the  door  opened,  and  a  most  re- 
spectable looking  serving-man  confronted  me. 

"Mr.  Indiman  will  see  you  presently,"  he 
said,  before  I  had  a  chance  to  get  out  a  word. 
"This  way,  sir." 

The  house  was  of  the  modern  American  base- 
ment type,  and  I  was  ushered  into  a  small  re- 
ception-room on  the  right  of  the  entrance  hall. 
"Will  you  have  the  Post,  sir?  Or  any  of  the 
illustrated  papers?  Just  as  you  please,  sir; 
thank  you." 

The  man  withdrew,  and  I  sat  looking  listless- 
ly about  me,  for  the  room,  while  handsomely 
furnished,  had  an  appearance  entirely  com- 
monplace. 

Five  and  ten  minutes  passed,  and  I  began  to 


The    Gates    of    Chance 

grow  impatient.  I  remembered  that  Jeckley's 
appointment  had  been  for  eight  o'clock,  and 
for  obvious  considerations  I  did  not  wish  that 
he  should  find  me  waiting  here.  It  was  eight 
o'clock  now,  and  I  would  abide  Mr.  Indiman's 
lordly  pleasure  no  longer.  I  rose  to  go;  the 
electric  bell  sounded. 

I  could  hear  Jeckley's  high-pitched  voice  dis- 
tinctly ;  he  seemed  to  be  put  out  about  some- 
thing; he  spoke  impatiently,  even  angrily. 

"But  this  is  4020  Madison  Avenue,  isn't  it? 
Mr.  Indiman — I  was  asked  to  call — Mr.  Jeck- 
ley,  of  the  Planet." 

"Must  be  some  mistake,  sir,"  came  the  an- 
swer. "This  is  No.  4020,  but  there's  no  Mr. 
Inkerman — 

"Indiman,  not  Inkerman — Mr.  Esper  Indi- 
man. Look  at  the  card." 

"  Never  heard  the  name,  sir." 

"What!    Well,  then,  who  does  live  here?" 

"  Mr.  Snell,  sir.  Mr.  Ambrose  Johnson  Snell. 
But  he's  at  dinner,  and  I  couldn't  disturb  him." 

"Humph!"  I  fancy  that  Jeckley  swore  un- 
der his  breath  as  he  turned  to  go.  Then  the 
outer  door  was  closed  upon  him. 

It  was  a  relief,  of  course,  to  be  spared  the  in- 

12 


The    Gentleman's   Yisiting-Card 

fliction  of  Mr.  Jeckley's  society,  but  I  could  not 
but  admit  that  the  situation  was  developing 
some  peculiarities.  Eliminating  the  doubtful 
personality  of  Mr.  Ambrose  Johnson  Snell,  who 
was  this  Mr.  Esper  Indiman,  whose  identity  had 
been  so  freely  admitted  to  me  and  so  explicitly 
denied  to  Jeckley  ?  The  inference  was  obvious 
that  Jeckley  had  failed  to  pass  the  first  inspec- 
tion test,  and  so  had  been  turned  down  with- 
out further  ceremony.  This  reflection  rather 
amused  me;  I  forgot  about  the  incivility  to 
which  I  was  being  subjected  in  the  long  wait, 
and  began  to  be  curious  about  the  game  itself. 
What  next? 

At  a  quarter  after  eight,  and  then  again  at 
half  after,  there  were  inquiries  at  the  door  for 
Mr.  Indiman.  To  each  caller  the  answer  was 
returned  that  no  Mr.  Indiman  was  known  at 
No.  4020  Madison  Avenue,  and  that  Mr.  Am- 
brose Johnson  Snell  could  not  be  disturbed  at 
his  dinner. 

There  was  no  caller  at  the  next  quarter,  and 
none  again  at  nine  o'clock.  The  series  had, 
therefore,  come  to  an  end,  and  I  remained  the 
sole  survivor — of  and  for  what  ? 

I  dare  say  that  my  nerves  had  been  some- 
13 


The    Gates    of    Chance 

what  weakened  by  my  two  days'  fast,  or  else 
it  was  the  effect  of  Jeckley's  cocktail  on  an 
otherwise  empty  stomach.  Whatever  the 
cause,  I  suddenly  became  conscious  that  I  was 
passing  into  a  state  of  high  mental  tension;  I 
wanted  to  scream,  to  beat  impotently  upon  the 
air ;  Jeckley  would  have  put  it  that  I  was  with- 
in an  ace  of  flying  off  the  handle. 

A  deafening  clash  of  clanging  metal  smote 
my  ears.  It  should  have  been  the  finishing 
touch,  and  it  was,  but  not  after  the  fashion  that 
might  have  been  expected.  As  though  by 
magic,  the  horrible  tension  relaxed ;  my  nerves 
again  took  command  of  the  situation ;  I  felt  as 
cool  and  collected  as  at  any  previous  moment 
in  my  life. 

In  the  centre  of  the  room  stood  a  heavy  ta- 
ble of  some  East-Indian  wood — teak,  I  think, 
they  call  it.  I  could  have  sworn  that  there 
was  nothing  whatever  upon  this  table  when  I 
entered  the  room;  now  I  saw  three  objects  ly- 
ing there.  I  walked  up  and  examined  them. 
As  they  lay  towards  me,  the  first  was  a  ten- 
thousand-dollar  bill,  the  second  a  loaded  re- 
volver, caliber  .44,  the  third  an  envelope  of  heavy 
white  paper  directed  to  me,  Winston  Thorp. 


The   Gentleman's  Visiting-Card 

The  letter  was  brief  and  formal ;  it  read : 

"  Mr.  Indiman  presents  his  compliments  to 

Mr.  Thorp 

and  requests  the  honor  of  his 
company  at  dinner,  Tuesday,  March 
the  thirtieth,  at  nine  o'clock. 

"4020  Madison  Avenue." 

Dishonor,  death,  and  dinner — a  curious  trio 
to  choose  between.  Yet  to  a  man  in  my  present 
position  each  of  them  appealed  in  its  own  way, 
and  I'm  not  ashamed  to  confess  it.  Perhaps 
the  choice  I  made  may  seem  inevitable,  but 
what  if  you  had  seen  Bingham's  face  as  I  did, 
with  the  arc  light  full  upon  it?  It  was  the  re- 
membrance of  that  which  made  me  hesitate; 
twice  I  drew  my  hand  away  and  looked  at  the 
money  and  the  pistol. 

Through  the  open  door  came  a  ravishing  odor, 
that  of  a  filet  &  la  Chdteaubriand ;  the  purely 
animal  instincts  reasserted  themselves,  and  I 
picked  up  the  gardenia  blossom  that  lay  beside 
the  letter  and  stuck  it  into  the  button-hole  of  my 
dinner-jacket.  I  looked  down  at  the  table,  and 
it  seemed  to  me  that  the  ten-thousand-dollar 
note  and  the  pistol  had  disappeared.  But  what 


The    Gates   of    Chance 

of  that,  what  did  anything  matter  now;  I  was 
going  to  dine — to  dine! 

I  walked  up-stairs,  guided  by  that  delicious, 
that  heavenly  odor,  and  entered  the  dining-room 
in  the  rear,  without  the  smallest  hesitation. 
At  one  end  of  the  table  sat  a  man  of  perhaps 
forty  years  of  age.  An  agreeable  face,  for  all 
of  the  tired  droop  about  the  mouth  and  the  deep 
lines  in  the  forehead;  it  could  light  up,  too, 
upon  occasion,  as  I  was  soon  to  discover.  For 
the  present  I  did  not  bother  myself  with  profit- 
less conjectures;  that  entrancing  filet,  displayed 
in  a  massive  silver  cover,  stood  before  him;  I 
could  not  take  my  eyes  from  it. 

My  host,  for  such  he  evidently  was,  rose  and 
bowed  with  great  politeness. 

"You  must  pardon  me,"  he  said,  "  for  sitting 
down;  but,  as  my  note  said,  I  dine  at  nine.  I 
will  have  the  shell -fish  and  soup  brought 
on." 

"I  should  prefer  to  begin  with  the  filet,"  I 
said,  decidedly. 

A  servant  brought  me  a  plate;  my  hand 
trembled,  but  I  succeeded  in  helping  my- 
self without  spilling  the  precious  sauce ;  I 
ate. 

*  16 


The   Gentleman's  Yisiting-Card 

"There  are  three  conditions  of  men  who 
might  be  expected  to  accept  the  kind  of  invi- 
tation which  has  brought  me  the  honor  of  your 
company,"  remarked  my  host  as  we  lit  our 
cigarettes  over  the  Roman  punch.  "To  par- 
ticularize, there  is  the  curious  impertinent,  the 
merely  foolish  person,  and  the  man  in  extremis 
rerum.  Now  I  have  no  liking  for  the  dog-faced 
breed,  as  Homer  would  put  it,  and  neither  do  I 
suffer  fools  gladly.  At  least,  one  of  the  latter 
is  not  likely  to  bother  me  again."  He  smiled 
grimly,  and  I  thought  of  Bingham's  face  of 
terror. 

"  I  found  my  desperate  man  in  you,  my  dear 
Mr.  Thorp;  shall  we  drink  to  our  better  ac- 
quaintance?" I  bowed,  and  we  drank. 

"The  precise  nature  of  your  misfortune  does 
not  concern  me,"  he  continued,  airily.  "It  is 
sufficient  that  we  are  of  the  same  mind  in  our 
attitude  towards  the  world — 'to  shake  with 
Destiny  for  beers,'  is  it  not? 

"One  may  meet  with  many  things  on  the 
highway  of  life  —  poverty,  disease,  sorrow, 
treacheries.  These  are  disagreeable,  I  admit, 
but  they  are  positive;  one  may  overcome  or, 
at  least,  forget  them.  But  suppose  you  stand 
17 


The    Gates    of    Chance 

confronting  the  negative  of  existence ;  the  high- 
way is  clear,  indeed,  but  how  interminable  its 
vista,  its  straight,  smooth,  and  intolerably  level 
stretch.  That  road  is  mine. 

"  Yes ;  I  have  tried  the  by-paths.  Once  I  was 
shanghaied ;  twice  I  have  been  marooned-  and 
by  my  own  men.  That  last  amused  me — a  lit- 
tle. I  was  the  second  rnan  to  arrive  at  Bor- 
deaux in  the  Paris-Madrid  race  of  1903 ;  during 
the  Spanish-American  war  I  acted  as  a  spy  for 
the  United  States  government  in  Barcelona. 

"  I  made  the  common  mistake  of  confound- 
ing the  unusual  with  the  interesting.  Romance 
is  a  shy  bird,  and  not  to  be  hunted  with  a  brass 
band.  Where  is  the  heart  of  life,  if  not  at  one's 
elbow?  At  the  farthest,  one  has  only  to  turn 
the  corner  of  the  street.  It  is  useless  to  look 
for  prodigies  in  the  abyss,  but  every  stream 
has  its  straws  that  float;  I  have  determined  to 
watch  and  follow  them. 

"I  want  a  companion,  and  so  I  advertised 
aftei  my  own  fashion.  I  selected  you,  tenta- 
tively, from  the  mob ;  later  on  I  made  the  test 
more  complete.  But  you  have  no  boutonniere ; 
allow  me." 

He  took  a  spray  of  orchid  from  the  silver 
18 


The    Gentleman's  Visiting-Card 

bowl  in  the  centre  of  the  table  and  handed  it 
to  me. 

I  protested:  "I  have  my  gardenia —  I 
looked  at  my  button-hole  and  it  was  gone. 

Mr.  Indiman  smiled.  "Let  me  confess,"  he 
said.  "You  recall  the  abnormal  tension  of 
your  nerves  as  you  sat  waiting  in  my  reception- 
room.  Merely  the  effect  produced  by  a  mixt- 
ure of  certain  chemical  gases  turned  on  from 
a  tap  under  my  hand.  Then  the  crash  of  a 
brazen  gong;  it  is  what  the  scientists  call 
'  massive  stimulation,'  resolving  super-excita- 
tion into  partial  hypnosis. 

"Once  I  had  you  in  the  hypnotic  condition, 
the  rest  was  simple  enough.  I  had  only  to 
suggest  to  your  mind  the  three  objects  on  the 
table,  and  you  saw  them.  The  bank-note,  the 
revolver — they  were  as  immaterial  as  the  gar- 
denia that  no  longer  adorns  your  button-hole. 

"  I  did  not  attempt  to  influence  your  choice 
among  the  three,  as  that  would  have  destroyed 
the  value  of  the  test  to  me.  But,  as  I  had 
hoped,  you  accepted  my  invitation  to  dinner. 
Frankly,  now,  I  am  curious — why?" 

"That  is  very  simple,"  I  answered.  "I  had 
not  eaten  anything  for  two  days,  and  I  detected 


The    Gates   of    Chance 

the  odor  of  that  exquisite  filet.  Not  the  slight- 
est ethical  significance  in  the  choice,  as  you 
see." 

Esper  Indiman  laughed.  "I  should  have 
kept  my  pantry  door  closed.  But  it  does  not 
matter;  I  am  satisfied.  Shall  we  go  into  the 
library  for  coffee?" 

Directly  opposite  the  door  of  the  latter  apart- 
ment stood  an  easel  holding  an  unframed  can- 
vas. A  remarkable  portrait — little  as  I  know 
about  pictures,  I  could  see  that  clearly  enough. 
A  three-quarter  length  of  a  woman  wearing  a 
ducal  coronet  and  dressed  in  a  magnificent  cos- 
tume of  red  velvet. 

"Lely's  'Red  Duchess,'"  remarks  my  host, 
carelessly.  "You  may  have  seen  it  in  the 
Hermitage  at  Petersburg." 

I  looked  at  the  picture  again.  Why  should 
this  masterpiece  not  have  been  properly  mount- 
ed and  glazed  ?  The  edges  of  the  canvas  were 
jagged  and  uneven,  as  though  it  had  been  cut 
from  its  frame  with  a  not  oversharp  knife.  We 
sat  down  to  our  coffee  and  liqueurs. 

As  I  awake  in  the  narrow  quarters  of  my 
hall  bedroom  I  am  inclined  to  believe  that  the 
20 


The    Gentleman's  Visitirig-Card 

occurrences  of  the  preceding  night  were  only 
the  phantasms  of  a  disordered  digestion ;  where 
had  I  eaten  that  Welsh  rabbit?  The  morning 
paper  had  been  thrown  over  the  transom,  and, 
following  my  usual  custom,  I  reached  for  it  and 
began  reading.  Among  the  foreign  despatches 
I  note  this  paragraph  dated  St.  Petersburg : 

"  The  famous  portrait  of  the  Duchess  of  Lackshire, 
by  Sir  Peter  Lely,  better  known  as  the  '  Red  Duchess,' 
has  disappeared  from  the  gallery  of  the  Hermitage. 
It  is  now  admitted  that  it  must  have  been  stolen,  cut 
bodily  from  its  frame  and  carried  away.  The  theft 
took  place  several  months  ago,  but  the  secret  has  just 
become  public  property.  The  absence  of  the  picture 
from  its  accustomed  place  had,  of  course,  been  noted, 
but  it  was  understood  that  it  had  been  removed  for 
cleaning.  An  enormous  reward  is  to  be  offered  for  in- 
formation leading  to  its  recovery." 

There  is  also  a  letter  for  me  which  I  had  not 
noticed  until  now.  It  was  from  Indiman,  and 
it  read : 

"DEAR  THORP,  —  Dine  with  me  to-night  at  half 
after  eight.  I  noticed  that  you  were  rather  taken 
with  my  '  Red  Duchess' ;  we  will  ask  the  lady  to  pre- 
side over  our  modest  repast,  and  you  can  then  gaze 
your  fill  upon  her.  Faithfully,  E.  I." 

Of  course,  I  intend  to  accept  the  invitation. 

21 


II 


The    Red    Duchess 

half  after  eight  we  sat  down  to  din- 
ner. Indiman,  of  course,  took  the 
head  of  the  table,  and  opposite  him, 
propped  up  on  the  arms  of  an  enor- 
mous "  bishop's  chair  "  of  Flemish  oak, 
was  Lely's  portrait  of  the  "  Red  Duch- 
ess." What  a  glorious  picture  it  was,  in  the 
masterly  sweep  of  its  lines,  in  the  splendor  of 
its  incomparable  coloring!  The  jagged  edges 
of  the  canvas  showed  plainly  where  the  vandal 
knife  had  passed,  separating  the  painting  from 
its  frame.  But  the  really  big  thing  is  always 
independent  of  its  cadre;  one  hardly  noticed 
the  mutilation,  and  then  immediately  forgot 
about  it. 

I  had  been  honored  with  a  seat  at  the  lady's 
right  hand,  and  opposite  me  a  fourth  cover  had 
been  laid.  Indiman  noticed  my  look  of  inquiry. 


The    Red    Duchess 

"Only  one  of  my  fancies,"  he  explained, 
smiling.  "I  always  make  provision  for  the 
unexpected  guest.  Who  knows  what  supper- 
less  angels  may  be  hovering  around?" 

We  were  hardly  at  the  soup  before  a  servant 
brought  in  a  card. 

"Roger  W.  Blake,"  read  Indiman,  aloud. 
"An  honest  -  enough  -  sounding  name.  Is  the 
gentleman  in  evening  dress,  Bolder?" 

"  No,  sir;  I  don't  think  so,  sir." 

"Hym!  That  is  unfortunate.  Still,  if  Ma- 
dame la  Duchesse  will  permit,  and  you,  Thorp, 
have  no  objection —  Good!  Ask  Mr.  Blake  to 
do  me  the  favor  of  joining  us  at  dinner." 

A  few  minutes  later  Mr.  Roger  Blake  ap- 
peared at  the  door  of  the  dining-room.  He  was 
a  young  man  with  a  profusion  of  fair  hair  and 
a  good  deal  of  color,  the  latter  heightened  con- 
siderably by  the  somewhat  embarrassing  cir- 
cumstances attending  his  introduction.  But 
Indiman  relieved  the  situation  immediately, 
going  forward  and  greeting  the  new  guest  with 
unaffected  cordiality. 

"  Mr.  Blake,  is  it?  You  are  very  heartily  wel- 
come, I  assure  you.  Let  Bolder  take  your  hat 
and  stick ;  indeed,  I  insist  upon  it.  Allow  me 
23 


The    Gates    of    Chance 

now  to  present  you :  Her  Grace  the  Duchess  of 
Lackshire,  more  generally  known  as  Lely's 
'Red  Duchess'  — Mr.  Roger  W.  Blake.  My 
friend,  Mr.  Thorp— Mr.  Blake." 

Evidently  the  young  man  was  not  overclear 
in  his  own  mind  as  to  how  it  had  all  happened, 
but  there  he  was,  sitting  bolt  upright  in  the  va- 
cant chair  and  drinking  two  glasses  of  wine  in 
rapid  succession  to  cover  his  confusion.  A  com- 
edy, apparently,  but  to  what  purpose?  Mr. 
Blake  blushed  painfully,  and  made  nc  reply  to 
the  polite  commonplaces  that  I  ventured ;  Indi- 
man  smiled  benevolently  upon  both  of  us,  and 
in  the  most  natural  possible  manner  led  the 
conversation  to  the  subject  of  portrait-paint- 
ing. There  was  his  text  before  him — the  fa- 
mous "Red  Duchess" — and  he  talked  well.  I 
found  myself  listening  with  absorbed  attention, 
and  even  the  shy  Mr.  Blake  became  oblivious 
of  the  keener  agonies  of  self -consciousness.  So 
we  went  on  until  the  game  course  had  been  re- 
moved. 

Our  host  rose  to  his  feet,  champagne  glass 
in  hand.  "Gentlemen,"  he  said,  and  we  fol- 
lowed his  example,  Blake  managing  to  upset 
a  decanter  of  sherry  in  the  process,  "in  life  and 
24 


The    Red    Duchess 

in  art — the  fairest  of  her  sex.  I  give  you,  gen- 
tlemen, 'La  Duchesse  Rouge.'" 

The  toast  was  drunk  with  becoming  decorum. 
I  was  about  to  resume  my  seat  when  I  saw  that 
Mr.  Blake  had  screwed  himself  up  to  a  desper- 
ate decision,  and  that  the  climax  of  the  drama 
was  at  hand.  He  was  quite  pale,  and  he  stut- 
tered a  little  as  he  spoke. 

"Very  sorry,  I — I'm  sure,"  he  blurted  out, 
"but  you  are  Mr.  In-Indiman?" 

"  I  am,  and  not  in  the  least  sorry  for  it.  Go 
on." 

"It  is  my  d-duty,  sir,  to  place  you  un- 
der arrest  for  complicity  in  the  theft  of  that 
p-p -picture."  Mr.  Blake  threw  back  his 
coat  and  displayed  a  detective's  shield  at- 
tached to  an  aggressively  red  suspender 
brace. 

Esper  Indiman  bowed  ironically.  "I  pre- 
sume that  my  presence  at  Police  Headquarters 
is  necessary?"  he  inquired. 

"  Yes,  sir.  I  have  a  coach  in  waiting  outside, 
and  we  will  start  at  once,  if  you  please."  Mr. 
Blake,  under  the  stimulus  of  his  professional 
functions,  lost  his  embarrassed  air  and  became 
severely  business-like  and  official.  "This  gen- 


The    Gates    of    Chance 

tleman  will  have  to  accompany  us,"  he  con- 
tinued, looking  at  me. 

"The  coffee,  Bolder,"  called  our  host,  "and 
never  mind  the  sweets."  I  drank  a  demi-tasse 
and  lit  a  cigarette.  "Ready,"  announced  In- 
diman,  and  we  descended  to  the  coach,  Mr. 
Blake  bringing  up  the  rear  and  carrying  the 
precious  picture  enveloped  in  a  silken  table- 
cover. 

"What  reward  is  offered,  officer?"  asked  In- 
diman  as  the  carriage  drove  off. 

"One  hundred  thousand  dollars,  sir.  It  will 
be  a  big  thing  for  me  if — if —  '  He  stopped,  a 
trifle  embarrassed. 

"Ah,  those  ifs!"  quoted  Indiman,  musingly. 

The  chief  of  the  detective  bureau  received 
us  in  his  private  room.  He  listened  attentively 
to  Blake's  report,  but  seemed  rather  puzzled 
than  gratified  by  its  triumphant  peroration. 
Now  the  young  man  felt  that  he  had  done  a 
big  thing,  and  this  non-committal  attitude  of 
his  superior  chagrined  him.  He  unrolled  the 
covering  in  which  the  picture  had  been  wrap- 
ped. 

"There!"  he  said,  half  resentfully. 
26 


The    Red    Duchess 

The  chief  looked  carefully  at  the  picture  and 
turned  to  Indiman. 

"Do  you  desire  to  make  any  explanation, 
Mr.  Indiman,  as  to  how  this  picture  happens 
to  be  in  your  possession?" 

"Certainly,"  was  the  prompt  reply.  "I 
bought  it  for  a  small  sum  a  month  ago  on  the 
lower  Bowery.  The  dealer's  name  was  Greg- 
ory, I  think." 

Young  Mr.  Blake  sniffed  incredulously.  A 
messenger  handed  a  couple  of  telegrams  to  the 
chief.  He  read  them  with  knitted  brows  and 
then  touched  a  call-bell. 

"Send  in  Officer  Stone,"  he  ordered. 

Mr.  Stone  immediately  made  his  appearance. 
In  his  hand  he  carried  a  flat,  square  parcel 
which,  in  obedience  to  a  further  order,  he  pro- 
ceeded to  unwrap.  I  uttered  an  involuntary 
cry,  for  it  was  nothing  less  than  a  replica  of 
the  famous  portrait  of  the  "Red  Duchess."  A 
replica,  indeed ! — it  would  take  an  expert  to  de- 
cide which  of  the  two  was  the  copy;  they  were 
absolutely  alike,  even  to  the  detail  of  the  rough 
edges,  the  marks  of  the  blunted  knife. 

"  This  picture  was  discovered  in  an  art 
dealer's  window  on  Fourth  Avenue  near  Twen- 
27 


The    Gates   o$   Chance 

ty -ninth  Street,"  explained  the  chief  of  the 
detective  bureau.  "And  now  kindly  listen  to 
these  despatches.  The  first  from  the  chief  of 
police  of  New  Orleans: 

"  '  Lely  portrait  discovered  in  pawn-shop.  Officer 
Smith  goes  North  to-night  to  return  property  and 
claim  reward.  J.  H.  BOWEN.' 

The  other  from  Pittsburg,  in  substantially  the 
same  language,  reports  the  finding  of  the  por- 
trait of  the  '  Red  Duchess '  in  a  private  gallery. 
This  fourth  picture  is  also  on  its  way  to  New 
York  for  identification." 

We  all  looked  at  one  another,  Blake  the 
picture  of  puzzled  anger  and  disappointment. 
"Which  is  the  true  picture?"  asked  the  chief. 
"  Mr.  Indiman,  I  should  be  glad  of  your  opinion." 

Indiman,  who  had  been  examining  the  can- 
vas held  by  Stone,  answered  quickly:  "  Neither 
of  these,  and  it  is  more  than  probable  that  the 
other  two  are  also  copies  by  the  same  hand. 
Wonderfully  well  done,  too,  but  the  study  of 
portraiture  is  a  hobby  of  mine;  I  have  even 
contemplated  a  monograph  on  the  subject,  or, 
more  particularly,  a  hand-book  to  the  smaller 
galleries  and  private  collections.  But  I  doubt 
28 


The    Red    Duchess 

if  I  ever  do  it  now,"  he  concluded,  medita- 
tively. 

"The  'Red  Duchess'?"  persisted  the  chief. 

"Of  course,  I  know  it  perfectly.  I  won't 
bore  you  with  technical  explanations,  but  on 
the  back  of  the  stretcher  is  the  address  of 
the  American  art  dealer  from  whom  the  origi- 
nal canvas  was  purchased.  That  should  be 
enough." 

It  was  as  Indiman  said;  each  of  the  canvas 
stretchers  carried  a  small  gummed  label,  the 
address  of  a  Fulton  Street  art-supply  shop. 

"That  settles  the  question,"  remarked  the 
chief  of  detectives.  "I  may  say  finally  that 
I  have  this  cable  from  the  Minister  of  Police  at 
St.  Petersburg,  communicated  to  me  through 
the  Russian  Consul-General : 

"  '  Lely  portrait  recovered  and  replaced  in  the  gal- 
lery at  the  Hermitage.    Withdraw  published  reward. 
"  '  (Signed)  SOBRIESKA.' 

A  queer  piece  of  business ;  but  this  appears 
to  be  the  end  of  it,"  commented  the  chief. 
"  Needless  to  say,  gentlemen,  that  you  are  at 
liberty  to  depart.  My  apologies  for  the  an- 
noyance to  which  you  have  been  subjected." 
29 


The    Gates    of    Chance 

We  all  bowed  and  withdrew  to  the  anteroom. 
Blake,  blushing  redly,  came  up  to  Indiman ;  he 
began  to  apologize,  stuttering  pitiably,  but  In- 
diman cut  him  short. 

"  Call  up  the  coach  and  offer  the  driver  extra 
fare  for  the  best  time  his  horses  can  make  to 
this  address."  He  scribbled  the  name  of  the 
street  and  the  house  number  on  a  leaf  torn  from 
his  note-book  and  handed  it  to  Blake.  "Yes, 
you  can  come  along  if  you  like ;  it  may  be  the 
big  thing  yet." 

As  the  carriage  rolled  along  Indiman  vouch- 
safed certain  explanations. 

"As  I  have  already  told  you,"  he  began,  "I 
bought  the  picture  from  a  small  dealer  in  the 
Bowery.  I  happened  to  notice  it  in  his  window, 
and,  the  '  Red  Duchess '  being  one  of  the  half- 
dozen  superlative  portraits  of  the  world,  I  was 
naturally  interested.  It  was  certainly  a  fine 
copy,  and  I  was  pleased  to  get  it  so  cheaply. 

"  Now  there  were  two  or  three  circumstances 
connected  with  my  find  that  afterwards  struck 
me  as  peculiar.  In  the  first  place  it  is  well 
known  that  permission  to  copy  any  of  the  pict 
ures  at  the  Hermitage  Gallery  is  very  rarely 
given,  and  the  authorities  are  particularly 
30 


The    Red    Duchess 

averse  to  having  reproductions  made  of  the 
Lely  portrait.  Secondly,  why  were  the  edges 
of  the  canvas  so  curiously  serrated,  giving  the 
picture  the  look  of  having  been  hastily  cut 
away  from  its  frame?  And,  finally,  where  and 
when  had  this  copy  been  made?  for  the  label 
of  the  Fulton  Street  art  dealer  on  the  back 
bore  the  date  1903,  and  this  was  the  26.  of 
February  in  the  same  year.  Obviously  im- 
possible that  the  artist  could  have  gone  to  Rus- 
sia, painted  the  picture,  and  returned  with  it  to 
New  York  in  a  little  over  a  month. 

"Two  days  later  I  was  walking  up  Fourth 
Avenue,  through  the  district  affected  by  the 
curio  and  old-furniture  dealers,  and  I  discov- 
ered a  replica  of  my  '  Red  Duchess '  hanging  in 
a  shop-window.  In  every  respect  identical, 
you  understand,  the  two  pictures  were  unques- 
tionably the  work  of  the  same  hand.  Whose 
hand? 

"Do  you  remember,  Thorp,  the  name  of 
Clive  Richmond?  Well,  for  a  year  or  two  he 
was  the  favorite  painter  of  women's  portraits 
here  in  New  York,  hailed  as  genius  and  all  that. 
Then  suddenly  his  work  began  to  fall  off  in 
quality;  his  failures  became  egregious,  and  his 


The    Gates   of    Chance 

clients  left  him.  Shortly  after  he  disappeared ; 
it  was  the  common  report  that  his  misfortunes 
had  affected  his  reason ;  there  were  even  hints 
at  suicide.  That  was  some  four  or  five  years 
ago,  and  whatever  the  secret  may  be  it  has 
been  kept  faithfully.  %* 

"At  least  I  had  solved  a  portion  of  the  prob- 
lem— it  was  Clive  Richmond  and  no  other  who 
had  painted  my  copy  of  the  'Red  Duchess.' 
How  do  I  know?  Well,  with  the  expert  it  is 
a  matter  partly  technical  but  more  largely  in- 
tuitive. How  do  you  recognize  a  friend's  face? 
How  does  the  bank  clerk  detect  the  counterfeit 
bill?  • 

"  Now  this  second  copy  bore  the  same  ear- 
marks as  the  one  in  my  possession — the  edges 
of  the  canvas  marred  and  jagged,  the  Fulton 
Street  label  on  the  back.  What  was  this  mys- 
tery? 

"  Mystery — yes,  and  behind  it  the  shadow  of 
a  crime,  of  a  human  tragedy.  Who  was  to  lift 
the  veil?  There  was  but  one  man — Clive  Rich- 
mond— who  could  answer  my  question;  and 
where  was  Clive  Richmond?  A  week  later  I 
found  still  a  third  copy  of  my  '  Duchess '  over 
on  Sixth  Avenue.  I  had  left  my  purse  at  home 
32 


The    Red    Duchess 

that  morning,  and  when  I  went  back  the  next 
day  to  buy  the  picture  it  was  gone — sold  to  a 
stranger.  Did  I  say  that  I  had  missed  getting 
possession  of  the  second  picture  through  the 
same  sort  of  contretemps  ?  I  never  saw  either 
of  them  again. 

"I  had  written  to  a  friend  in  Petersburg  to 
make  certain  inquiries  for  me,  and  his  an- 
swer confirmed  my  suspicions.  The  'Red 
Duchess'  was  not  hanging  in  its  accustomed 
place  at  the  Hermitage;  it  was  in  process  of 
renovation,  according  to  a  statement  made  by 
the  director  of  the  gallery. 

' '  That  was  enough  for  me.  The  portrait  had 
been  stolen  and  was  probably  in  New  York  at 
this  very  moment.  Where  ?  Let  me  first  find 
Clive  Richmond,  and  I  must  be  quick  about  it, 
for  once  the  secret  of  the  theft  got  out  the  de- 
tectives would  not  be  long  in  rounding  up  the 
various  purchasers  of  those  wonderfully  ac- 
curate copies.  This  morning  the  cable  brought 
the  news,  and  at  dinner-time  Mr.  Blake's  card 
was  presented  to  me.  Quick  work,  Mr.  Blake ; 
I  congratulate  you. 

"  Here  is  the  letter  that  I  received  just  before 
we  left  my  house;  you  remember  that  it  had 
3  33 


The    Gates   of   Chance 

come  in  the  evening  mail  and  been  overlooked. 
I  will  read  it. 

" '  DEAR  INDIMAN, — There's  more  in  the  art  business 
than  can  be  squeezed  out  of  a  color  tube,  isn't  there? 
But  I  have  the  secret  now;  it  was  given  me  by  Lely 
himself — no  less.  What  a  pity  it  is  that  I  sha'n't 
have  the  chance  to  use  it,  but  you  and  the  cognoscenti 
can  fight  it  out  together.  You  might  bury  me  decent- 
ly if  you  like;  you  ought  to  be  willing  to  do  that 
much,  seeing  that  your  critical  pronouncements  have 
been  so  amply  vindicated.  C.  R. 

"  '  P.  S. — My  secret?  But  on  second  thought  I  will 
take  it  with  me.'  " 

St.  John's  Park  and  the  streets  fronting  upon 
it  was  once  a  fashionable  quarter  of  the  town. 
Now  a  hideous  railway  freight  station  occupies 
the  former  park  area,  and  the  old-time  resi- 
dences, with  their  curiously  wrought-iron  stoop- 
railings  and  graceful  fan-lights,  have  been  de- 
graded to  the  base  uses  of  a  tenement  pop- 
ulation. Only  the  quaint  chapel  of  St.  John 
has  survived  the  slow  process  of  contam- 
ination, a  single  rock  rising  above  the  sordid 
tide. 

The  coach  stopped  before  one  of  the  most 
pretentious  of  the  old-time  houses — now,  alas! 
34 


The    Red    Duchess 

one  of  the  dirtiest  and  most  dilapidated.  We 
were  directed  to  the  upper  story,  Indiman  lead- 
ing the  way. 

A  single  attic  chamber,  bearing  the  marks  of 
the  cruelest  poverty,  a  stove,  an  artist's  easel, 
a  pallet  spread  directly  on  the  grimy  floor,  and 
upon  it  a  man  in  the  last  stage  of  consumption. 
He  glanced  up  at  Indiman  and  waved  his  hand 
feebly.  He  tried  to  speak,  but  his  voice  died 
away  in  his  throat;  Indiman  knelt  by  his  side 
to  catch  the  words. 

"  It  is  cold — shut  stove  door — there's  enough 
now  to  last  me  out." 

Indiman  went  to  the  stove,  where  a  little  fire 
was  smouldering ;  he  shut  the  door  and  turned 
on  the  draught.  The  flame  leaped  up  instant- 
ly, the  crazy  smoke-pipe  rattling  as  it  expanded 
under  the  influence  of  the  heat.  Indiman  turn- 
ed again  to  the  dying  man. 

"You  know  well  enough  why  I  have  come," 
he  said,  slowly.  "  I  have  in  my  possession  one 
of  your  copies  of  the  'Red  Duchess.'  Tell  me 
the  truth." 

There  was  no  audible  response  from  the  blood- 
less lips,  but  the  dark  eyes  were  full  of  ironic 
laughter.    Then  they  closed  again. 
35 


The    Gates    of    Chance 

"  Richmond !"  said  Indiman,  sharply.  "  Rich- 
mond!" 

I  had  been  standing  by  the  door,  but  now  I 
came  forward  and  joined  Indiman.  "Gone!" 
he  said,  briefly.  "Gone,  and  taken  his  secret 
with  him.  Only,  what  was  the  secret?" 

We  tried  to  argue  it  out  on  the  way  up-town, 
but  with  only  indifferent  success.  Granted  the 
premise  that  Richmond  had  actually  stolen  the 
"  Red  Duchess,"  what  were  his  motives  in  mul- 
tiplying copies  of  the  picture,  a  proceeding  that 
must  infallibly  end  in  the  detection  of  his 
crime?  And  the  supreme  question — what  had 
finally  become  of  the  original? 

My  theory  was  simple  enough.  The  man 
was  mentally  unbalanced,  the  result  of  brood- 
ing over  his  own  failure  in  art.  He  had  stolen 
the  picture,  possessed  with  the  idea  that  by 
study  of  it  he  should  discover  the  secret  of  its 
power.  He  had  made  copies  of  the  picture  and 
sold  them  in  order  to  supply  himself  with  the 
necessities  of  life.  At  the  end,  knowing  him- 
self to  be  dying,  he  had  caused  the  original  to 
be  returned  to  the  gallery  at  Petersburg,  a  con- 
tribution to  the  conscience  fund. 

Indiman's  argument  was  more  subtle. 
36 


The    Red    Duchess 

"Granted,"  he  said,  "that  the  poor  chap  was 
mentally  irresponsible,  and  that  he  actually 
did  steal  the  picture.  But  you  must  take  into 
account  his  colossal  vanity,  his  monumental 
egotism.  Richmond  never  admitted  for  a  mo- 
ment that  he  was  a  failure  as  an  artist ;  there  was 
a  cabal  against  him,  and  that  accounted  for 
everything.  This  affair  was  simply  his  revenge 
upon  his  critics  and  detractors ;  he  would  turn 
out  these  reproductions  of  a  masterpiece  so 
perfect  in  their  technique  as  not  to  be  dis- 
tinguished from  their  original,  nor  indeed  from 
each  other.  So  having  set  the  artistic  world 
by  the  ears,  he  would  enjoy  his  triumph,  at 
first  in  secret,  and  afterwards  openly." 

"  But  what  was  the  picture  returned  to  the 
Hermitage?" 

"  One  of  these  same  copies — that  was  the  su- 
preme sarcasm." 

"The  original,  then — the  'Red  Duchess'?" 

"The  fuel  in  the  stove  consisted  of  some 
strips  of  painted  canvas,"  said  Indiman,  grave- 
ly. "I  don't  know,  I  can't  be  sure — they  were 
almost  consumed  when  I  shut  the  door." 

"An  imperfect  copy,"  I  hazarded. 

"  Some  day  we  will  take  a  trip  to  the  Hermit- 
37 


The   Gates   of   Chance 

age  to  make  sure, ' '  answered  Indiman.  ' ' '  Where 
ignorance  is  bliss,'  etc.  What  do  you  think, 
Blake?"  he  continued,  turning  to  our  compan- 
ion. 

"  It's  all  the  same  to  me,  sir,"  answered  Blake, 
a  little  ruefully.  "  It  was  a  big  thing,  right 
enough,  but  somehow  I  seem  to  have  missed  it 
all  round.  Well,  good-night,  sir,  if  you'll  kind- 
ly set  me  down  at  this  corner." 

Indiman  and  I  enjoyed  a  small  supper  under 
Oscar's  watchful  eye.  The  night  was  fine  and 
we  started  to  walk  home.  Have  I  said  that  Indi- 
man had  proposed  that  I  should  move  my  traps 
over  to  his  house  and  take  up  my  quarters  there 
for  an  indefinite  period?  In  exchange  for  ser- 
vices rendered,  as  he  put  it,  and  somehow  he 
made  it  possible  for  me  to  accept  the  invitation. 
It  had  been  twenty-four  hours  now  since  I  had 
first  enjoyed  the  honor  of  Mr.  Esper  Indiman's 
acquaintance ;  the  novelty  of  having  enough  to 
eat — actually  enough — was  already  beginning 
to  wear  off.  Man  is  a  wonderful  creature ;  give 
him  time  and  he  will  adjust  himself  to  any- 
thing. 

At  the  corner  of  Fifth  Avenue  and  Twenty- 
seventh  Street,  Indiman  stopped  suddenly  and 
38 


The    Red    Duchess 

picked  up  a  small  object.  It  was  a  latch-key  of 
the  familiar  Yale-lock  pattern.  I  looked  at  it 
rather  indifferently. 

"Man!  man!"  said  Indiman,  with  simulated 
despair.  "  Surely  you  are  an  incorrigibly  pro- 
saic person.  A  key — does  it  suggest  to  you  no 
possibilities  of  mystery,  of  romance?" 

"Well,  not  without  a  door,"  I  answered, 
smartly. 

"Oh,  is  that  all!  To-morrow  we  will  go  out 
and  find  a  door  upon  which  this  little  key  may 
be  profitably  employed.  You  promise  to  en- 
ter that  door  with  me?" 

"I  promise." 


Ill 

House   in   the   Middle   otf   the    Block 

LL  things  come  to  him  who  waits," 
quoted  Indiman.  "Do  you  believe 
that?" 

"It's  a  comfortable  theory,"  I  an- 
swered. 

"  But    an    untenable    one.      And 
Fortune  is  equally  elusive  to  those  who  seek 
her  over-persistently.     The  truth,  as  usual,  lies 
between  the  extremes." 
"Well?" 

"The  secret  is  simple  enough.  He  who  is 
ready  to  receive,  receives.  Love,  fame,  the 
shower  of  gold — they  are  in  the  air,  and  only 
waiting  to  be  precipitated.  I  stand  ready  to 
be  amused,  and  that  same  afternoon  the  Even- 
ing Post  aims  a  blow  at  the  Tammany  'Tiger' 
over  the  shoulder  of  Mr.  Edward  M.  Shepard; 
I  am  in  the  mood  adventurous,  and  instantly 
40 


House  in  the  Middle  of  the  Block 

the  shadow  of  a  prodigy  falls  across  my  thresh- 
old; yea,  though  I  live  on  upper  West  End 
Avenue.  Do  you  remember  this?"  and  he  held 
out  a  small  Yale  latch-key. 

"  It  is  the  one  you  picked  up  at  Twenty-sev- 
enth Street  and  Fifth  Avenue  last  night." 

"  Precisely.  Now  a  key,  you  observe,  is  in- 
tended to  open  something — in  this  case  a  door. 
What  door?  As  though  that  mattered!  Put 
on  your  rain-coat,  my  dear  Thorp,  and  let  us 
begin  a  little  journey  into  the  unknown.  Fate 
will  lead  us  surely,  O  unbelieving  one,  if  you  will 
but  place  your  hand  unresistingly  in  hers." 

We  left  the  house,  and  Indiman  tossed  a  pen- 
ny into  the  air.  "Broadway,  heads;  Fourth 
Avenue,  tails."  Tails  it  was. 

Arrived  at  Fourth  Avenue,  we  stood  waiting 
for  a  car.  The  first  that  came  along  was  on 
its  way  up-town  and  we  boarded  it. 

"  Was  it  you  who  asked  for  a  cross-town  trans- 
fer at  Twenty-ninth?"  inquired  the  conductor 
of  Indiman  a  few  minutes  later,  and  Indiman 
nodded  assent  and  took  the  transfer  slips. 

At  Eighth  Avenue  the  cross-town  car  was 
blocked  by  a  stalled  coal-cart.  We  alighted 
and  passively  awaited  further  directions  from 


The    Gates   of    Chance 

our  esoteric  guide.  Quite  an  amusing  game  for 
a  dull,  rainy  afternoon,  and  I  felt  grateful  to 
Indiman  for  its  invention. 

The  policeman  on  the  corner  was  endeavoring 
to  direct  a  very  small  boy  with  a  very  large 
bundle.  "  Up  one  block  and  turn  east,"  he^said, 
impressively.  "I've  told  you  that  now  three 
times." 

I  had  a  flash  of  inspiration.  "Copper  it,"  I 
cried. 

"  Right,"  said  Indiman,  soberly.  We  walked 
down  one  block  to  Twenty-eighth  Street  and 
then  turned  westward. 

New  York  is  a  big  city,  and  therefore  entitled 
to  present  an  occasional  anomaly  to  the  ob- 
servant eye.  And  this  particular  section  of 
Twenty -eighth  Street  is  one  of  these  departures 
from  the  normal,  a  block  or  two  of  respectable, 
even  handsome  houses  set  as  an  oasis  in  a  dull 
and  sordid  neighborhood.  How  and  why  this 
should  be  does  not  matter ;  it  is  to  be  presumed 
that  the  people  who  live  there  are  satisfied,  and 
it  is  nobody  else's  business. 

We  walked  on  slowly;  then,  half-way  down 
the  block,  Indiman  stopped  me.     "  What  did  I 
tell  you?"  he  whispered. 
42 


House  in  the  Middle  of  the  Block 

The  house  was  of  the  English  basement  type, 
and  occupied  two  of  the  ordinary  city  lots; 
nothing  particularly  remarkable  about  that, 
and  I  said  as  much. 

"But  look  again,"  insisted  Indiman.  I  did 
so  and  saw  a  man  standing  at  the  door,  evident- 
ly desirous  of  entering.  Twice,  while  we  stood 
watching  him,  he  rang  without  result,  and  the 
delay  annoyed  him.  He  shook  the  door-knob 
impatiently,  and  then  fell  to  researching  his 
pockets,  an  elaborate  operation  that  consumed 
several  minutes. 

"Lost  his  latch-key,"  commented  Indiman. 
He  walked  up  the  steps  of  the  entrance  porch. 
"You  might  try  mine,"  he  said,  politely,  and 
held  out  the  key  picked  up  the  night  before  at 
Fifth  Avenue  and  Twenty-seventh  Street. 

"Huh!"  grunted  the  man,  suspiciously,  but 
he  took  the  little  piece  of  metal  and  inserted  it 
into  the  slot  of  the  lock.  The  door  swung  open. 
Amazing,  but  what  followed  was  even  more  in- 
credible. The  man  stepped  into  the  hall,  but 
continued  to  hold  the  door  wide  open. 

"You're  coming  in,  I  suppose,"  he  said,  sur- 
lily. 

"  Certainly,"  answered  Indiman.  "  This  way, 
43 


The    Gates    of    Chance 

Thorp,"  he  called  at  me,  and  most  unwillingly 
I  obeyed.  We  passed  into  the  house  and  the 
door  closed  behind  us.  Our  introducer  turned 
up  the  gas  in  the  old-fashioned  hall  chandelier, 
and  favored  us  with  a  perfunctory  stare.  "  New 
members,  eh!"  he  grunted,  and  turned  away  as 
though  it  were  a  matter  of  entire  indifference 
to  him.  But  Indiman  spoke  up  quickly. 

"Pardon  me,"  he  began,  with  the  sweetest 
suavity.    "I  was  afraid  for  the  moment  that 
we  had  got  into  the  wrong  place.    This  is  the — 
a  delicately  suggestive  pause. 

"The  Utinam  Club,"  supplied  the  other. 

"Exactly,"  said  Indiman,  in  a  most  relieved 
tone.  "  It  is  the  Utinam,  Thorp,"  he  continued, 
turning  to  me.  Now  I  had  not  the  smallest  no- 
tion of  what  the  Utinam  Club  might  be,  con- 
sequently I  preserved  a  discreet  silence.  In- 
diman addressed  himself  again  to  our  ungra- 
cious cicerone. 

"A  snug  little  box  you  have  here,  Mr.  er — " 

"Hoyt,  sir — Colman  Hoyt." 

"Ah,  yes — of  North  Pole  fame.  You  are 
the  man — 

"Who  has  led  four  expeditions  to  reach  it, 
and  failed  as  often.     That  is  my  title  to  fame. 
44 


House  in  the  Middle  of  the  Block 

And  also  my  qualification  for  membership  in 
the  Utinam  Club,"  he  added,  grimly. 

"Ah,  yes  —  the  discovery  of  the  Pole.  A 
unique  and  delightful  idea  in  clubdom  —  eh, 
Thorp?  To  succeed — 

"  No,  sir ;  to  fail,"  interrupted  Mr.  Hoyt,  rude- 
ly. "What  the  devil  do  you  suppose  I  am  do- 
ing in  this  galley?  You  must  be  a  very  new 
member  of  the  Utinam  Club." 

"To  tell  the  truth,  Mr.  Hoyt,"  said  Indiman, 
with  an  air  of  engaging  frankness,  "  I  have  nev- 
er, until  this  moment,  even  heard  of  the  Utinam 
Club.  But  for  all  that  I  am  convinced  that  I 
am  about  to  become  a  member  of  it,  and  I  may 
say  the  same  for  my  friend,  Mr.  Thorp.  Now, 
possibly  you  may  be  inclined  to  assist  us." 

Mr.  Hoyt  stared.  "It's  a  pity,  isn't  it,"  he 
remarked,  reflectively,  "that  our  standard  of 
eligibility  doesn't  conform  to  that  of  your  im- 
pudence. Still,  I  won't  say  that  it  can't  be 
done ;  this  is  a  proprietary  club,  you  know.  You 
had  better  see  Dr.  Magnus." 

"Dr.  Magnus?" 

"The  proprietor  of  the  Utinam  Club.  Here 
he  conies  now." 

A  slight,  gray-haired  man  of  fifty  or  there- 
45 


The    Gates   of   Chance 

abouts  had  entered  the  hall  from  the  rear  and 
immediately  came  forward  to  meet  us.  His 
eyes  were  the  extraordinary  feature  of  his  face, 
piercingly  brilliant  and  enormously  magnified 
by  the  spectacles  that  he  wore.  The  lenses  of 
the  latter  were  nearly  an  eighth  of  an  inch  thick 
and  evidently  of  the  highest  power.  Even  with 
their  aid  his  powers  of  vision  seemed  imperfect. 
On  hearing  the  few  words  of  explanation  vouch- 
safed by  the  unamiable  Mr.  Hoyt,  he  drew  from 
his  pocket  a  second  and  third  pair  of  glasses 
and  deliberately  added  both  to  his  original  op- 
tical equipment.  I  know  that  I  felt  like  a  fly 
under  a  microscope  in  facing  that  formidable 
battery  of  lenses.  But  the  scrutiny  seemed  to 
satisfy  him ;  he  spoke  courteously  enough : 

"  Step  into  my  office,  gentlemen,  and  we  will 
talk  the  matter  over." 

Mr.  Colman  Hoyt  had  departed  without  fur- 
ther formality,  and  we  followed  our  host  into 
the  room  adjoining  the  hall  on  the  right.  It 
looked  like  the  study  of  a  man  of  science ;  charts 
and  globes  and  plaster-of-Paris  casts  were  every- 
where, while  the  far  end  of  the  apartment  was 
occupied  by  a  huge,  flat- topped  table  covered 
with  papers,  test-tubes,  and  glass-slides.  But 
46 


House  in  the  Middle  of  the  Block 

even  more  remarkable  than  its  contents  was 
the  room  itself,  and  its  singular  architectural 
proportions  at  once  engaged  my  attention. 

As  I  have  said,  the  house  occupied  two  twen- 
ty-five-foot  city  lots,  but  the  entrance  and  hall 
were  at  the  extreme  right  as  one  looks  out- 
ward towards  the  street,  instead  of  being  in  the 
centre,  as  is  usually  the  case.  Consequently, 
the  room  in  which  we  stood  (being  undivided 
by  any  interior  partitions)  extended  the  full 
width  of  the  house,  less  that  of  the  entrance 
hall — forty  feet,  let  us  say,  in  round  numbers. 
But  its  measurements  in  the  other  direction 
were  barely  ten  feet,  the  apartment  presenting 
the  appearance  of  a  long,  low,  and  narrow  gal- 
lery. At  the  back  were  a  row  of  five  windows 
taking  light  from  the  interior  court-yard;  in 
brief,  the  house,  imposing  in  its  dimensions 
from  the  street  side,  was  little  more  than  a 
mask  of  masonry  extremely  ill-adapted  for  hu- 
man habitation,  or,  indeed,  for  any  purpose. 
Stepping  to  one  of  the  rear  windows,  I  looked 
out,  and  then  the  reason  for  this  extraordinary 
construction — or,  rather,  reconstruction — be- 
came apparent. 

The  lot  was  of  the  usual  depth  of  one  hun- 
47 


The    Gates    of    Chance 

dred  feet,  and,  being  a  double  one,  it  had  a  width 
of  fifty.  A  large  building  of  gray  stone  occu- 
pied the  farther  end  of  this  inside  space,  the 
erection  measuring  about  sixty  feet  in  depth 
and  extending  the  full  width  of  the  enclosure. 
That  left  a  little  less  than  thirty  feet  of  court- 
yard between  this  back  building  and  the  one 
facing  on  the  street,  and  it  was  evident  that  the 
rear  of  the  original  house  had  been  sheared  off 
bodily  to  provide  for  this  singular  readjust- 
ment in  the  owner's  modus  vivendi,  only  the 
party  walls  on  either  side  being  left  standing. 
And  these  had  been  extended  so  as  to  enflank 
the  building  in  the  rear. 

If  I  have  made  my  description  clear,  it  now 
will  be  understood  that  the  facade  of  the  origi- 
nal house  was  nothing  more  than  a  shell,  a  ten- 
foot  screen  whose  principal  office  was  to  con- 
ceal the  interior  structure  from  curious  eyes. 
Describing  the  latter  more  particularly,  it 
should  be  noted  that  it  was  connected  with  the 
original  house  by  a  covered  passageway  of 
brick  running  along  one  side  of  the  court-yard 
and  communicating  with  the  hallway  that  led 
to  the  street  door.  Apparently,  the  rear  build- 
ing was  three  stories  in  height — I  say  apparent- 
48 


House  in  the  Middle  off  the  Block 

ly,  for,  being  entirely  destitute  of  windows,  it 
was  impossible  to  accurately  deduce  the  num- 
ber of  its  floors.  .'Esthetically,  it  made  no 
pretensions,  its  only  architectural  feature  being 
a  domed  roof  of  copper  and  a  couple  of  chim- 
ney-stacks, from  one  of  which  a  thin  streak 
of  vapor  ascended.  A  chilling  and  depressing 
spectacle  was  that  presented  by  the  "House 
in  the  Middle  of  the  Block,"  as  I  mentally  chris- 
tened it,  and  I  speculated  upon  the  strange  of- 
fices to  which  it  had  been  consecrated. 

"The  Utinam  Club,"  answered  my  unspoken 
query.  Dr.  Magnus  had  advanced  to  my  side 
and  stood  staring  at  me  through  his  triple 
lenses.  I  started,  involuntarily. 

"There!  there!"  he  said,  soothingly.  "I  did 
not  perceive  that  your  attention  was  so  entire- 
ly absorbed.  I  am  honored  by  your  interest 
— the  Utinam  Club,  it  is  my  hobby,  sir,  and 
one  not  altogether  unworthy  of  the  considera- 
tion of  an  intelligent  man." 

"I  can  quite  understand  that,"  said  Indi- 
man,  who  had  joined  us  at  the  window.  "  There 
is  a  distinct  stimulus  to  the  imagination  in  the 
picture  before  us.  And  what  a  picture ! — this 
eyeless,  gray-faced,  architectural  monstrosity, 
4  49 


The   Gates   of   Chance 

crowned  with  squat,  domelike  head  of  coppery 
red,  and  set  in  that  gigantic  cadre  of  fifty-foot 
masonry !  Superb !  Magnificent !" 

"The  honor  of  your  acquaintance — "  began 
Dr.  Magnus. 

"In  two  words,"  interrupted  Indiman,, smil- 
ingly. He  made  a  brief  statement  of  the  cir- 
cumstances attendant  upon  the  rinding  of  the 
Yale  latch-key,  and  the  proprietor  of  the  Uti- 
nam  Club  listened  attentively. 

"I  have  a  passion  for  the  unique,"  conclud- 
ed Indiman,  "and  the  Utinam  Club  appears 
to  possess  claims  of  unusual  merit  in  that  di- 
rection. I  own  frankly  that  I  am  curious  as  to 
its  object  and  qualifications  for  membership." 

"They  are  quite  simple,"  answered  Dr.  Mag- 
nus. "  Indeed,  the  name  of  the  club  explains 
its  raison  d'etre — Utinam,  a  Latin  ejaculation 
equivalent  to  our '  Would  to  Heaven !'  or '  Would 
that  I  could  be!'  To  be  eligible  for  member- 
ship in  the  Utinam  Club,  one  must  have  had  a 
distinct  object  or  ambition  in  life  and  then 
have  failed  to  realize  it." 

"Ah,  I  begin  to  understand,"  murmured  In- 
diman. "An  extraordinary  basis,  indeed,  for  a 
social  organization — the  lame  ducks,  the  noble 
50 


House  in  the  Middle  of  the  Block 

army  of  the  incapables,  the  gentlemen  k  main 
gauche !  Pray  go  on ;  you  interest  me  exceed- 
ingly." 

"We  have  them  all  here,"  answered  Dr. 
Magnus,  smiling.  "The  unsuccessful  author, 
the  business  bankrupt,  the  artist  whose  pict- 
ures have  never  reached  the  line.  The  touch- 
stone of  failure,  you  see ;  the  clubability  (odious 
word!)  of  our  membership  is  unimpeachable. 

"A  superb  conception.  My  dear  Dr.  Mag- 
nus, I  must  beg  of  you  to  enroll  Mr.  Thorp  and 
myself  at  once.  Believe  me  that  we  are  not 
unworthy  of  a  place  in  your  galaxy  of  dark 
stars." 

Dr.  Magnus  walked  to  the  table  and  took  up 
his  pen.  "This  gentleman?"  he  began,  inquir- 
ingly, and  looked  at  me. 

"An  unfortunate  affair  of  the  heart,"  an- 
swered Indiman — an  exquisite  piece  of  audac- 
ity at  which  I  frowned,  and  then  perforce  had 
to  smile.  "  It  comes  within  your  rule,  I  trust?" 

"For  limited  membership  only,"  answered 
Dr.  Magnus.  "In  fact,  we  rather  discourage 
victims  of  sentimental  reverses,  it  being  inva- 
riably impossible  to  determine  whether  the 
transaction  is  finally  to  show  a  profit  or  a  loss. 


The    Gates    of    Chance 

Then,  too,  the  quick  recoveries — but  we'll  let 
it  stand  at  that.  Now,  with  yourself?" 

"I,"  said  Indiman,  gravely,  "am  a  mathe- 
matician by  instinctive  preference  and  early 
training,  but  I  have  never  been  able  to  cross 
the  'Ass's  Bridge,'  the  Forty-seventh  problem 
of  Euclid.  Incidentally,  I  may  mention  that  I 
am  a  golf -player  with  a  handicap  of  eighteen." 

"A  double  first,"  commented  the  proprietor 
of  the  Utinam  Club.  "I  perceive,  Mr.  Indi- 
man, that  you  are  bent  upon  amusing  yourself; 
and  since  circumstances  have  undeniably  fa- 
vored you,  you  may  continue  to  do  so.  But 
not  at  my  expense,"  and  thereupon  he  men- 
tioned a  figure  for  initiation  and  dues  that  made 
me  sit  up.  But  Indiman  settled  without  flinch- 
ing ;  he  happened  to  have  his  check-book  with 
him,  and  the  remaining  formalities  were  quick- 
ly discharged. 

"And  now,  gentlemen,  let  me  show  you 
about  the  club,"  said  Dr.  Magnus,  affably. 
"Will  you  be  good  enough  to  follow  me?" 

He  led  the  way  into  the  hall,  and  thence  into 

the  cloister-like  passage  communicating  with 

the  "House  in  the  Middle  of  the  Block."     I 

glanced  out  at  the  court-yard  as  we  passed  a 

52 


House  in  the  Middle  of»  the  Block 

window;  it  was  most  ingeniously  planned  to 
take  the  utmost  advantage  of  its  limited  area. 
An  antique  Italian  fountain  occupied  a  niche 
in  the  opposite  wall,  and  on  either  side  were 
sedilia  flanked  by  bay-trees  in  tubs  and  two 
or  three  fine  specimens  of  the  Japanese  dwarf 
oak.  A  bas-relief  in  plaster  of  the  Elgin  marbles 
ran  friezelike  the  full  length  of  the  party  wall, 
and  fixed  immediately  above  the  fountain  niche 
the  terrible  mask  of  the  Medusa  face  looked 
down  upon  us.  The  time  of  the  year  being 
late  in  March,  there  was  no  snow  upon  the 
ground,  and  I  could  see  that  the  ground  of  the 
court-yard  was  divided  into  four  garden-beds, 
separated  from  each  other  by  narrow  paths  of 
broad,  red  tile  bordered  by  box.  All  in  all  it 
was  a  charming  little  bit  of  formal  gardening; 
I  could  imagine  how  pretty  it  would  be  on  a 
spring  morning,  when  the  beds  should  be  gay 
with  crocuses  and  tulips. 

We  were  admitted  into  the  club  proper  by 
a  liveried  servant,  and  from  the  handsome 
oak-panelled  vestibule  we  passed  into  a  lofty 
apartment  hung  with  pictures  and  filled  with 
miscellaneous  objects  of  art.  All,  without  ex- 
ception, were  execrable — miserable  daubs  of 
53 


The    Gates   of   Chance 

painting,  criminal  essays  in  plastic  and  decora- 
tive work,  and  a  collection  of  statuary  that 
could  be  adequately  matched  only  by  the  hor- 
rors in  Central  Park.  "Our  art  gallery,  gen- 
tlemen," explained  Dr.  Magnus. 

Art  gallery  indeed!  To  me  it  was  the  most 
melancholy  of  exhibitions,  but  Indiman  was 
enraptured. 

"What  a  magnificent  record  of  failure!"  he 
exclaimed.  "What  miracles  of  ineptitude!" 
and  Dr.  Magnus  smiled,  well  pleased. 

We  ascended  to  the  next  floor.  Here  was  the 
library,  lined  ceiling-high  with  books  that  had 
fallen  still-born  from  the  press.  Gigantic  cabi- 
net presses  occupied  the  centre  of  the  room, 
the  final  depository  of  countless  "unavailable" 
MSS.  In  an  adjoining  room  were  glass-cases 
crowded  with  mechanical  models  of  unsuccess- 
ful inventions.  Naturally,  I  expected  to  see  a 
large  section  devoted  to  the  resolution  of  the 
perpetual  -  motion  problem,  but  in  this  I  was 
disappointed,  not  a  single  specimen  of  the  kind 
could  I  discover. 

"We  do  not  attempt  the  impossible,"  ex- 
plained Dr.  Magnus,  dryly.    "  Our  failures  must 
be  inherent  in  the  man,  not  in  his  subject." 
54 


House  in  the  Middle  of  the  Block 

There  were  other  rooms,  a  long  succession  of 
them,  filled  with  melancholy  evidences  of  in- 
capacity and  defeat  in  almost  every  depart- 
ment of  human  activity — plans  of  abortive 
military  campaigns,  prospectuses  of  moribund 
business  enterprises,  architectural  and  engineer- 
ing drawings  of  structures  never  to  be  reared, 
charts,  models,  unfinished  musical  scores,  final- 
ly a  huge  papier-mache  globe  on  which  were 
traced  the  routes  of  Mr.  Colman  Hoyt's  four 
unsuccessful  dashes  for  the  North  Pole.  It  de- 
pressed me,  the  sight  of  this  vast  lumber-room, 
this  collection  of  useless  flotsam  and  jetsam, 
cast  up  and  rejected  by  the  sea  of  strenuous 
life.  Most  moving  of  all,  a  broken  golf-club 
standing  in  a  dusty  corner,  and  beside  it  a  wo- 
fully  scarred  and  battered  ball.  I  pointed  them 
out  to  Indiman. 

"  A  fellow-sufferer,"  he  said,  and  sighed  deeply. 

Last  of  all  we  were  conducted  to  the  com- 
mon room,  a  spacious  apartment  immediately 
under  the  dome.  At  one  end  a  huge  stone  fire- 
place, in  which  a  fire  crackled  cheerfully. 

"  '  Non  Possumus,'  "  read  Indiman,  decipher- 
ing the  motto  chiselled  upon  the  chimney- 
breast. 

55 


The    Gates   of   Chance 

"An  admirable  sentiment  indeed!  Dr.  Mag- 
nus, I  venture  to  infer  that  the  Utinam  Club 
is  the  child  of  your  own  brain.  Permit  me, 
sir,  to  congratulate  you — a  glorious  inception 
and  carried  out  to  perfection." 

Dr.  Magnus  smiled  frostily.  "  I  thanlc  you, 
Mr.  Indiman,"  he  said,  staring  hard  at  him. 
"  In  a  civilization  so  complex  as  ours  the  Uti- 
nam undoubtedly  fills  a  want.  And  now,  gen- 
tlemen, if  you  will  excuse  me ;  I  have  some  af- 
fairs of  moment.  The  club  is  yours ;  make  use 
of  it  as  you  will.  You  are  already  acquainted 
with  Mr.  Hoyt,  I  believe.  The  other  gentlemen 
— but  opportunity  will  doubtless  serve."  He 
bowed  and  withdrew. 

Indiman  dropped  into  an  easy-chair  and  lit 
a  cigar.  "  Les  miseYables,"  he  said  to  me  in  an 
undertone.  "Look  at  them." 

In  truth,  it  was  a  strange  company  with 
whom  we  had  foregathered.  There  were  per- 
haps a  dozen  men  in  the  room,  and  each  seemed 
absorbed  in  the  listless  contemplation  of  his 
own  dejected  personality.  The  large  table  in 
the  centre  of  the  room  was  laden  with  newspa- 
pers and  periodicals,  but  no  one  had  taken  the 
trouble  to  displace  the  neat  files  in  which  they 

56 


House  in  the  Middle  of  the  Block 

had  been  arranged.  The  card-room  adjoining 
was  untenanted;  the  green-baize  tables,  with 
their  complement  of  shiny,  new  packs  of  cards 
and  metal  counters,  bore  no  evidence  of  use; 
in  the  billiard-room  at  the  back  a  marker  slept 
restfully  in  his  high-legged  chair.  Assuredly, 
the  members  of  the  Utinam  Club  were  not  ad- 
vocates of  the  strenuous  life. 

It  was  after  six  o'clock  now,  and  the  big  room 
was  beginning  to  fill  up  with  later  arrivals.  Yet 
there  was  none  of  the  cheerful  hum  and  bustle 
ordinarily  characteristic  of  such  a  gathering.  A 
man  would  enter  and  pass  to  his  place  unfa- 
vored by  even  the  courtesy  of  a  friendly  glance ; 
at  least  a  score  of  men  had  made  their  first  ap- 
pearance within  the  last  quarter  of  an  hour, 
and  not  a  single  word  of  greeting  or  recognition 
had  I  heard  exchanged.  Among  them  was  Mr. 
Colman  Hoyt,  the  unsuccessful  Arctic  explor- 
er. He  passed  close  to  where  Indiman  and  I 
sat,  yet  never  looked  at  us.  An  odd  set,  these 
our  fellow  -  members  of  the  Utinam,  and  one 
naturally  wondered  why  they  came  to  the  club 
at  all.  But  we  were  now  to  learn. 

As  I  have  said,  the  building  was  entirely  win- 
dowless,  ventilation  being  secured  by  force4 
57 


The    Gates    of    Chance 

draught  from  an  engine-room  in  the  basement. 
Consequently,  artificial  light  was  necessary  at 
all  times,  and  a  very  agreeable  quality  of  it 
was  furnished  by  electroliers  concealed  behind 
ground -glass  slides  in  the  walls  and  ceilings  of 
the  various  apartments.  The  light  thus  ob- 
tained was  diffused  rather  than  direct,  and,  being 
colorless,  it  closely  approximated  natural  con- 
ditions, the  delusion  being  heightened  by  the 
construction  of  the  wall  panels  so  as  to  simulate 
windows.  To  add  again  to  the  effect,  these 
lights  had  been  gradually  lowered  as  the  day 
wore  on.  Now  it  must  be  almost  dark  in  the  out- 
side world,  and  it  was  twilight  in  the  common 
room  of  the  Utinam  Club ;  I  could  no  longer  dis- 
tinguish between  the  motionless  figures  of  the 
men  around  me  and  the  shadows  that  envel- 
oped them.  Even  the  fire  was  dying  out ;  in  a 
few  moments  the  darkness  would  become  pro- 
found, and  I  felt  my  pulse  slow  down  with  the 
chill  of  the  thought. 

One  single  ember  remained  in  the  fireplace; 
I  watched  it  gleaming  like  a  great  red  eye  in  its 
bed  of  ashes,  then  it  winked  and  went  out, 
and  at  the  same  instant  the  last  ray  from  the 
false  windows  disappeared.  Strain  my  eyes  as 
58 


House  in  the  Middle  of  the  Block 

I  would,  the  sensitive  retina  remained  abso- 
lutely unaffected ;  the  darkness  had  finally  come, 
and  from  one  to  another  of  that  desolate  com- 
pany ran  a  little,  tremulous  sigh,  then  the  si- 
lence of  complete  negation. 

From  the  apex  of  the  domed  ceiling  a  sud- 
den and  wonderful  effulgence  of  rose-colored 
light  streamed  forth,  flooding  the  great  room 
with  glorious  color  and  life.  Magical  were  its 
effects.  Men  straightened  up  in  their  chairs 
and  looked  about  them,  the  flush  of  returning 
animation  in  their  cheeks,  and  their  eyes  bright 
with  questioning  interest.  A  youngish  chap 
leaned  over  and  spoke  earnestly  to  his  neighbor, 
then  some  one  laughed  aloud.  Instantly  the 
flood-gates  were  opened;  the  air  was  vibrant 
with  the  hum  of  conversation,  the  ringing  of 
call-bells,  and  the  sputtering  of  fusees.  A  blue 
haze  of  cigarette-smoke  formed  itself  above  the 
heads  of  the  assemblage ;  the  Utinam  Club  had 
come  to  its  own  again. 

The  large  folding-doors  at  the  east  end  were 
now  opened,  disclosing  the  supper-room  be- 
yond— a  spacious  apartment,  and  decorated 
with  a  barbaric  splendor  of  gilding  and  intri- 
cate plastic  work.  I  remarked  particularly  the 
59 


The   Gates   of   Chance 

preponderance  of  the  red  tints ;  indeed,  no  other 
shade  of  color  could  I  discover — but  of  this 
more  particularly  hereafter.  Indiman  looked 
at  me,  and  we  trooped  out  with  the  rest — que 
voulez-vous?  One  must  always  dine. 

We  found  a  small  table ;  the  napery  and  glass 
were  exquisite,  the  cuisine  and  service  perfect. 
We  surrendered  ourselves  to  the  allurements 
of  the  hour.  I  was  conscious  of  an  unusual 
lightness  and  exhilaration  of  spirit;  Indiman's 
eyes  were  sparkling  with  unwonted  brilliancy. 
I  raised  my  champagne-glass:  "To  the  Utinam 
Club,"  I  said,  with  enthusiasm,  and  rather  more 
loudly  than  I  had  intended.  The  toast  was 
at  once  re-echoed  from  every  mouth,  and  a 
burst  of  laughter  followed. 

A  late -comer  entered  and  looked  about  the 
room  somewhat  uncertainly,  for  all  the  tables 
had  been  taken.  It  was  Mr.  Colman  Hoyt. 
He  saw  us  and  smiled  genially.  "We  have 
room  here,"  called  out  Indiman,  and  he  joined 
us. 

"  I  am  fortunate  as  ever,"  he  said,  as  he  took 
his  seat.     "New  friends,   old  wine;  and   our 
chef's  sauce  tartare  is  incomparable  to-night. 
What  more  can  the  heart  of  man  desire?" 
60 


House  in  the  Middle  of  fhe  Block 

"Not  even  the  North  Pole?"  said  Indiman. 

"Ah,  the  Pole!  Bah!  I  can  put  my  hand 
on  it  when  I  want  it.  Did  I  tell  you  that  I 
start  to-morrow  on  my  fifth  expedition?  Suc- 
cess is  certain.  Will  you  honor  me  by  drink- 
ing to  it?"  We  drank  solemnly. 

"I  thought  you  were  wearing  a  dark-green 
scarf,"  I  interrupted,  somewhat  irrelevantly, 
speaking  to  Indiman. 

"I  am,"  he  replied. 

"  It  is  red,"  I  insisted.  "  Not  green  at 
all." 

"Nonsense!"  said  Indiman,  and  thereupon 
Mr.  Colman  Hoyt  burst  into  a  cackle  of  laugh- 
ter. 

"Complementary  colors,"  he  said.  "All  the 
blue,  green,  and  yellow  rays  are  excluded  from 
this  kindly  light  invented  by  our  friend  Magnus ; 
consequently  there  can  be  no  sensation  of  those 
colors  within  our  vision." 

"A  curious  fancy,"  said  Indiman. 

"  Say  rather  the  most  glorious  and  beneficent 
of  discoveries,"  retorted  Mr.  Hoyt.  "All  life 
and  vigor  and  power  of  achievement  are  de- 
pendent upon  the  red  end  of  the  spectrum.  In- 
capacity, failure,  disease,  death — they  are  gen- 
61 


The    Gates    of   Chance 

crated  by  the  violet  rays  alone ;  eliminate  them, 
and  the  problem  of  existence  is  solved.  All 
hail  to  thee,  O  Magnus,  and  to  thy  incompara- 
ble genius!  Light  of  lights !  All  hail!" 

A  score  of  voices  took  up  the  cry,  and  I 
know  that  I  shouted  with  the  rest.  Then  I 
felt  Indiman's  hand  upon  my  arm;  my  sober 
senses  partially  returned .  ' '  Keep  hold  of  your- 
self," he  whispered,  and  the  warning  came  in 
time ;  I  pushed  away  my  wineglass,  and  there- 
after ate  only  enough  of  the  exquisitely  seasoned 
viands  to  satisfy  my  hunger.  And  all  the  while 
Mr.  Colman  Hoyt  babbled  foolishly  about  the 
white  glories  of  the  queen  of  the  North;  to- 
morrow he  should  again  be  on  the  way  to  her 
dear  embraces.  "  The  Pole,  gentlemen ;  behold, 
I  arrive;  c'est  moi!" 

We  passed  out  into  the  general  room.  The 
card-tables  were  now  full,  the  billiard-balls 
rolled  incessantly  across  the  green  cloth;  from 
an  inner  room  came  the  unmistakable  click  of  a 
roulette-wheel.  Men  talked  loudly  of  their  proj - 
ects  and  ambitions  shortly  to  be  accomplished. 
An  epic  poet  was  about  to  publish  his  magnum 
opus,  the  birth  of  a  new  star  in  the  poetical 
firmament;  a  speculator  had  made  his  great 
62 


House  in  the  Middle  of  the  Block 

coup — to-morrow  he  would  have  the  wheat 
market  cornered. 

"My  novel!"  cried  one.  "My  symphony!" 
retorted  another.  A  third  said  no  word,  but 
looked  at  the  miniature  of  a  woman's  face  that 
he  held  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand — looked  and 
smiled. 

The  night  wore  away ;  nay,  speeded  were  the 
better  word,  for  no  one  felt  any  suggestion  even 
of  weariness  or  satiety.  Then  suddenly  the  rose 
glow  grew  dimmer;  little  by  little  the  laughter 
died  away  and  the  voices  were  hushed.  A  few 
of  the  bolder  spirits  set  themselves  to  stem  the 
receding  tide,  but  their  blasphemies  quickly 
trailed  away  into  weak  incoherencies,  and  again 
silence  conquered  all.  And  darkness  fell. 

A  servant  crossed  the  room  and  drew  aside 
the  heavy  velvet  curtains  draping  the  false  win- 
dows ;  the  pure,  colorless  light  streamed  in,  but 
it  disclosed  a  world  in  tinge  all  blue  and  green 
and  indigo.  Our  eyes,  so  long  deprived  of  the 
rays  emanating  from  the  violet  end  of  the 
spectrum,  were  now  affected  by  them  alone; 
every  object  was  horribly  transformed  by  the 
bluish-green  bands  surrounding  and  outlining 
it.  A  man  brushed  carelessly  past  me ;  it  was 
63 


The    Gates    of   Chance 

Colman  Hoyt,  and  his  face  was  of  a  man  already 
dead ;  his  lips  moved,  but  no  sound  issued  from 
them.  He  passed  into  the  model-room  con- 
necting on  the  west  with  the  central  hall ;  there 
was  the  sound  of  a  fall,  and  Indiman  and  I  fol- 
lowed quickly.  Yet  not  quickly  enough,  for 
across  the  great  globe  upon  which  were  traced 
the  records  of  his  four  unsuccessful  expeditions  * 
lay  the  body  of  Colman  Hoyt.  He  was  a 
heavy  man,  and  he  had  evidently  flung  himself 
at  his  full  weight  upon  the  sharp,  arrow- 
pointed  rod  that  served  as  the  axis  of  this  min- 
iature world ;  it  had  pierced  to  his  very  heart. 
The  North  Pole — at  last  he  had  reached  it. 

"Let  us  go,"  said  Indiman  to  me,  and  we 
stole  quickly  away. 

Now,  in  the  vestibule  below,  a  young  man 
who  had  entered  in  haste  pushed  rudely  past 
us  and  made  for  the  row  of  private  letter-boxes 
fixed  opposite  the  coat-room.  He  paused  at 
box  No.  82  and  gazed  eagerly  into  it.  The 
front  was  of  glass,  and  I  could  see  readily  that 
the  box  was  empty.  The  young  man  had  his 
pass-key  in  his  hand,  but  it  was  clearly  useless 
to  insert  it,  and  he  finally  turned  away,  his 
countenance  displaying  the  bitterest  sense  of 
64 


House  in  the  Middle  of  the  Block 

disappointment.  His  wildly  roving  eye  en- 
countered that  of  Esper  Indiman.  "Sir!"  he 
began,  impetuously,  then  checked  himself, 
bowed  ceremoniously,  and  was  gone. 


IV 
The    Prioate    Letter-Box 

HAD  agreed  to  meet  Esper  Indiman 
at  the  Utinam  and  dine  there.  The 
weather  had  turned  cold  again,  for 
it  was  the  end  of  our  changeable 
March,  and  the  fireplace  in  the  com- 
mon room  of  the  club  was  heaped  high 
with  hickory  logs,  a  cheerful  sight,  were  it  not 
for  that  odious  motto,  "  Non  Possumus,"  graven 
over  the  mantel-shelf  where  it  must  inevitably 
meet  every  eye.  Never  could  I  read  it  without 
a  tightening  at  my  heartstrings;  a  potency  of 
blighting  evil  seemed  to  lie  in  the  very  words. 
There  were  but  two  or  three  club  members 
in  the  room,  one  of  them  the  young  Mr.  Syden- 
ham,  who  had  attracted  my  attention  once  or 
twice  before  by  the  infinite  wretchedness  of  his 
face.  A  mere  boy,  too,  hardly  five-and-twenty 
at  the  most.  He  sat  in  a  big  chair,  a  maga- 
66 


The    Prioate    Letter-Box 

zine  with  its  leaves  uncut  lying  in  his  lap. 
For  an  hour  or  more  he  had  not  stirred;  then 
he  rang  for  a  servant,  directing  him  to  inquire 
for  any  mail  that  might  have  come  in  the  af- 
ternoon delivery.  Nothing  for  Mr.  Sydenham 
was  the  report,  and  again  the  young  man  re- 
lapsed into  his  melancholy  musing.  An  hour 
later,  and  just  after  Indiman  had  joined  me, 
Mr.  Sydenham  repeated  his  inquiry  about  his 
letters,  receiving  the  same  negative  answer — 
"Nothing  for  Mr.  Sydenham."  Evidently  the 
disappointment  was  not  unexpected,  but  it  was 
none  the  less  a  bitter  one.  With  a  sigh  which 
he  hardly  attempted  to  stifle,  the  young  man 
took  up  his  uncut  magazine  and  made  a  pre- 
tence at  examining  its  contents ;  I  watched  him 
with  a  lively  but  silent  pity;  any  active  sym- 
pathy might  have  seemed  obtrusive. 

A  servant  stood  at  the  young  man's  elbow 
holding  a  salver  on  which  lay  a  missive  of  some 
sort,  a  telegraphic  message,  to  judge  by  the 
flimsy,  buff  envelope. 

"Telegram,  sir,"  said  the  man,  at  length. 
"  For  Mr.  Sydenham ;  yes,  sir.  Will  you  sign  for 
it?" 

The  boy  turned  slowly,  and  there  was  a 
67 


The    Gates   of    Chance 

shaking  horror  in  his  eyes  that  made  me  feel 
sick.  He  signed  the  book  and  took  the  mes- 
sage from  the  salver,  apparently  acting  against 
a  sense  of  the  most  intense  repulsion,  and  for 
all  that  unable  to  help  himself.  The  message 
once  in  his  hand  he  did  not  seem  to  concern 
himself  overmuch  with  its  possible  import ;  pres- 
ently the  envelope  fell  from  his  inert  fingers  and 
fluttered  down  at  Indiman's  feet.  The  latter 
picked  it  up  and  handed  it  to  the  young  man, 
who  thanked  him  in  a  voice  barely  audible. 

"The  man  is  waiting  to  see  if  there  is  any 
answer,"  suggested  Indiman,  quietly. 

Mr.  Sydenham  started,  colored  deeply,  and 
tore  open  the  envelope.  He  read  the  message 
through  carefully,  then  perused  it  for  a  second 
and  a  third  time,  and  sat  motionless,  staring 
into  vacancy. 

Indiman  leaned  forward.  "Well?"  he  said, 
sharply. 

The  young  man  looked  up;  the  cool  confi- 
dence of  Indiman's  gaze  seemed  suddenly  to 
inspire  in  him  a  feeling  of  trust;  he  took  the 
risk;  he  handed  the  message  to  Indiman. 
"What  answer  would  you  advise  me  to  give?" 
he  said. 

68 


The   Prioate    Letter-Box 

The  message  contained  these  words: 

"  The  Empire  State  express  passes  the  Fifty-third 
Street  bridge  at  8.35  o'clock  to-morrow  morning. 
You  can  drop  from  the  guard-rail.  Is  life  more  than 
honor?  Answer.  V.  S." 

Indiman  looked  at  me,  then  he  rose  and  took 
Mr.  Sydenham  by  the  arm.  "Let  us  go  into 
the  card-room,"  he  said,  quietly.  "  Thorp,  will 
you  come?" 

The  young  man's  story  was  very  simple.  He 
had  held  until  lately  the  position  of  cashier  in 
the  firm  of  Sandford  &  Sands,  stock-brokers. 
On  January  i$th  a  shortage  of  fifty  thousand 
dollars  had  been  discovered  in  his  books.  Mr. 
Sandford  being  an  intimate  friend  of  the  elder 
Sydenham  had  declined  to  prosecute.  That 
was  all. 

"  Let  us  proceed  frankly,  Mr.  Sydenham," 
said  Indiman.  "Did  you  take  the  money?" 

"I  am  beginning  to  think  so,"  answered  the 
young  man,  dully. 

"Come,"  said  Indiman,  encouragingly,  "that 
does  not  sound  like  a  confession  of  guilt.  Don't 
you  know?" 

69 


The    Gates   of    Chance 

Mr.  Sydenham  shook  his  head.  "  I  can't  tell 
you,"  he  answered,  hopelessly.  "My  accounts 
were  in  perfect  order  up  to  January  loth,  when 
I  discovered  that  our  bank  balance  showed  a 
discrepancy  of  fifty  thousand  dollars.  I  cov- 
ered it  over  for  the  time,  hoping  to  find  the 
source  of  the  error.  Five  days  later  I  told  Mr. 
Sandford.  The  money  was  gone,  and  that  was 
all  that  I  could  say." 

"Let  us  recall  the  events  of  January  gth. 
Did  you  make  your  regular  deposit  that  day, 
and  where?" 

"We  keep  our  account  at  the  Bank  of  Com- 
merce. But  that  afternoon  I  overlooked  a 
package  of  bills  in  large  denominations.  I  sent 
another  messenger  over  to  the  bank,  but  it  was 
after  three  o'clock  and  the  deposit  was  refused. 
The  boy  brought  the  money  back  to  me — the 
package  contained  fifty  thousand  dollars." 

"And  then?" 

"  I  don't  know.  I  might  have  locked  it  up 
in  our  own  safe  or  carried  it  home  with  me  or 
pitched  it  out  of  the  window.  It  is  all  a  blank. ' ' 

"  Did  you  stay  at  the  office  later  than  usual 
that  day?" 

"Yes;  I  was  busy  with  some  of  Mr.  Sand- 
70 


The   Prioate    Letter-Box 

ford's  private  affairs,  and  that  delayed  me  un- 
til all  the  others  had  gone.  I  left  about  five 
o'clock." 

"And  now  who  is  V.  S.  ?  Pardon  me,  but 
the  question  is  necessary." 

"Miss  Valentine  Sandford — Mr.  Sandford's 
daughter.  I  was  engaged  to  be  married  to  her." 

"  Since  when?" 

"  I  had  proposed  and  was  waiting  for  my 
answer.  Then  that  very  day  she  sent  me  a  tel- 
egram. It  contained  the  single  word  '  yes,'  and 
was  signed  by  her  initials.  It  came  at  the 
same  moment  that  the  messenger  brought  back 
the  money  from  the  bank." 

"And  it  is  the  same  V.  S.  who  sends  this 
message?"  asked  Indiman,  smoothing  out  the 
telegraph  blank  which  he  held  in  his  hand. 

The  young  man  took  a  bundle  of  papers 
from  his  breast-pocket.  They  were  all  tele- 
graphic messages,  and  each  was  a  suggestion 
towards  self-destruction  in  one  form  or  another. 
"Suicide's  corner"  at  Niagara,  poison,  the  rope 
— all  couched  in  language  of  devilish  ingenuity 
in  innuendo,  and  ending  in  every  instance  with 
the  expression,  "Is  life  more  than  honor? 
Answer.  V.  S." 


The    Gates    of    Chance 

"  I  have  had  at  least  one  every  day,"  said  the 
young  man.  "  Sometimes  two  or  three.  Gen- 
erally in  the  morning,  but  they  also  come  at 
any  hour." 

"And  Miss  Sandford?" 

"  I  wrote  and  told  her  of  my  terrible  misfort- 
une, released  her  from  the  unannounced  en- 
gagement, and  begged  her  to  believe  in  me 
until  I  could  clear  myself.  I  have  not  seen  her 
since  the  fatal  day  of  the  i$th  of  January." 

"And  you  have  received  from  her  only  these 
— these  messages?" 

"That  is  aU." 

"And  you  think  they  come  from  her?" 

"  No ;  or  I  should  have  killed  myself  long  ago. 
But  there  are  times  when  I  have  to  take  a  tight 
hold  on  myself;  to-day  is  one  of  them,"  he 
added,  very  simply. 

"Mr.  Sydenham,"  said  Indiman,  solemnly, 
"  I  now  know  you  to  be  an  innocent  man.  Had 
it  been  otherwise  you  would  long  since  have 
succumbed  under  this  mysterious  and  terrible 
pressure." 

"I  am  innocent!"  repeated  the  young  man. 
"But  to  prove  it?" 

"  It  shall  be  proved." 
72 


The   Primate    Letter-Box 

"The  money?" 

"  It  shall  be  found." 

"Through  whom?" 

"  Yourself.  A  simple  lapse  of  memory  is  the 
undoubted  explanation.  The  gap  must  be 
bridged,  that  is  all.  Will  you  put  yourself  in 
my  hands?" 

"  Unreservedly." 

"Good!  I  desire  then  that  you  should  re- 
turn to  your  home  and  wait  there  until  you 
hear  from  me.  The  address — thank  you.  You 
had  better  leave  the  club  at  once ;  this  atmos- 
phere is  not  the  most  wholesome  for  a  man  in 
your  position." 

Mr.  Sydenham  proved  most  amenable  to  all 
of  Indiman's  suggestions,  and  we  did  not  lose 
sight  of  him  until  he  was  finally  on  his  way  up- 
town in  a  Columbus  Avenue  car. 

"A  good  subject,"  remarked  Indiman,  "and 
it  should  be  comparatively  easy  to  get  at  the 
submerged  consciousness  in  his  case.  A  simple 
reconstruction  of  the  scene  should  be  sufficient." 

"You  don't  think  the  money  was  stolen, 
then?" 

"  Not  at  all.  It  will  be  found  in  some  safe 
place,  its  disposal  being  an  act  of  Sydenham's 
73 


The    Gates   of    Chance 

subliminal  personality,  of  which  his  normal 
consciousness  knows  nothing." 

"  But  why — " 

"  The  man  was  not  himself  that  ninth  day  of 
January.  He  had  received  a  tremendous  im- 
pression in  the  receipt  of  that  message  -from 
Miss  Sandford.  He  was  an  accepted  lover,  and 
the  consciousness,  for  the  time  being,  swept  him 
off  his  feet.  He  was  doing  his  work  mechani- 
cally, and  it  did  not  matter  so  long  as  it  was 
only  routine.  Then  came  the  emergency,  and, 
objectively,  he  was  unable  to  cope  with  it.  The 
subjective  personality  took  command  and  did 
the  right  thing,  for  Sydenham  is  an  honest  man. 
What  action  the  subliminal  self  actually  took 
is  known  only  to  itself,  and  no  effort  of  Syden- 
ham's  normal  memory  will  suffice  to  recall  it. 
But  there  are  other  means  of  getting  at  the 
truth.  The  most  practical  is  to  reproduce  the 
situation  as  exactly  as  possible.  Given  the  same 
first  causes  and  we  get  the  identical  results. 
First,  now  to  see  Mr.  Sandford,  with  whom 
luckily  I  have  some  acquaintance." 

It  was  like  the  playing  of  a  game,  the  scene 
in  Sandford  &  Sand's  office  that  following  after- 
74 


The   Private    Letter-Box 

noon.  The  staff  of  clerks  had  been  sent  home 
as  soon  as  possible  after  three  o'clock,  all  save 
the  young  man  who  acted  as  bank  messenger. 
The  calendar  on  the  wall  had  been  set  back  to 
January  gfh,  and  the  Herald  of  that  date  lay 
half -opened  on  Sydenham's  old  desk.  It  will  be 
remembered  that  Sydenham  had  been  detained 
on  some  of  Mr.  Sandford's  private  business,  and 
it  was  perfectly  feasible  to  reconstruct  its  de- 
tails. Mr.  Sandford  had  been  coached  in  his 
part  by  Indiman,  and  the  preparations  for  the 
experiment  being  finally  perfected,  Sydenham 
was  called  in.  He  appeared,  dressed  in  the  same 
clothes  that  he  had  worn  the  month  before, 
looking  a  little  pale,  indeed,  but  resolute  and 
collected. 

"Mr.  Sydenham,"  said  Indiman,  keeping  his 
eyes  fixed  on  the  young  man's  face,  "you  will 
observe  that  this  is  January  9,  1903.  Kindly 
seat  yourself  at  your  desk,  and  remain  there 
as  passive  as  possible.  Wait  now  until  we 
withdraw." 

Through  the  half-opened  door  of  Mr.  Sand- 
ford's  private  office  we  could  see  distinctly  all 
that  passed.  Sydenham  sat  motionless  at  his 
desk;  Alden,  the  bank  messenger,  was  within 
75 


The    Gates    of    Chance 

call  in  the  outer  office.  The  hands  of  the  clock, 
which  had  been  set  back,  pointed  to  five  min- 
utes of  three. 

A  telegraph  delivery  boy  entered  and  handed 
Sydenham  a  yellow  envelope.  He  signed  for 
it  and  the  boy  withdrew.  He  opened  it,  and 
instead  of  a  written  message  drew  out  a  fresh 
sprig  of  heliotrope.  Motionless  and  scarcely 
breathing,  he  sat  and  gazed  at  it  as  though  he 
could  never  fill  his  eyes  with  the  sight. 

"Now,"  said  Indiman,  pushing  Mr.  Sand- 
ford  into  the  room  where  the  young  cashier 
sat. 

The  conversation  was  a  brief  one,  relating  to 
the  papers  that  Mr.  Sandford  carried  in  his 
hand. 

"  Leave  them  on  your  way  up-town  in  my  box 
at  the  safe-deposit  company,"  concluded  Mr. 
Sandford.  Then  he  took  his  hat  and  went 
out. 

Sydenham  swung  back  to  his  desk ;  the  Herald 
lying  there  was  in  his  way,  and  he  tossed  it  onto 
the  floor.  Underneath  lay  a  package  of  bills 
of  large  denominations. 

The   cashier   acted    quickly.     "Alden!"    he 
called,  and  the  messenger  came  running  in. 
76 


The    Private   Letter-Box 

"  I  overlooked  this  package,"  said  Sydenham; 
"it  contains  fifty  thousand  dollars.  Do  you 
think  you  can  get  to  the  bank  with  it?  You 
have  a  minute  and  a  half." 

The  messenger  seized  the  package  and  dashed 
away.  Sydenham  looked  again  at  the  sprig  of 
heliotrope ;  he  pressed  it  passionately  to  his  lips. 
Then  carefully  placing  it  in  his  pocket-book,  he 
began  an  examination  of  the  papers  left  by  Mr. 
Sandford.  The  clock  struck  three. 

The  clerk  Alden  re-entered.  ' '  They  wouldn't 
take  it,"  he  said,  and  handed  the  package  of 
bills  to  Sydenham. 

"Oh,  very  well,"  said  the  cashier,  absently, 
"I'll  take  care  of  it.  That's  all,  Alden ; you  can 
go." 

For  an  hour  or  more  Sydenham  worked 
steadily.  Then,  gathering  the  papers  together, 
he  rose,  took  off  his  office-coat,  and  began  mak- 
ing preparations  to  depart.  Once  he  came  into 
Mr.  Sandford's  private  office,  where  we  were 
sitting,  but  apparently  he  did  not  notice  our 
presence.  Indiman  gripped  my  hand  hard. 
"Going  splendidly,"  he  whispered. 

The  cashier  put  on  his  hat  and  top-coat. 
The  legal  papers  were  carefully  stowed  in  an 
77 


The    Gates    of    Chance 

inside  pocket,  and  he  was  about  to  close  down 
his  roll-top  desk  when  the  package  of  bank-bills 
met  his  eye.  He  frowned  perplexedly;  then 
picking  up  the  bundle  he  dropped  it  into  the 
same  pocket  with  the  papers  belonging  to  Mr. 
Sandford.  He  went  out,  closing  the  door  be- 
hind him. 

We  followed  as  quickly  as  we  could,  but  this 
time  luck  was  against  us — Sydenham  had  dis- 
appeared. 

"To  the  safe-deposit  company,"  said  Indi- 
man,  and  we  jumped  into  a  hansom.  Mr. 
Sandford  was  there,  and  we  waited  impatiently 
for  Sydenham's  appearance;  it  was  the  only 
chance  of  again  picking  up  the  lost  trail. 

There  he  came,  walking  slowly  up  Nassau 
Street,  his  manner  a  trifle  preoccupied  and  his 
eyes  bent  on  the  pavement.  Opposite  the  safe- 
deposit  company  he  stopped  and  thrust  his 
hand  into  a  waistcoat  -  pocket.  He  took  it 
away  empty  and  a  terrible  change  came  over 
his  face.  With  a  quick  movement  he  drew  out 
the  bundle  of  bank-notes  and  regarded  it  fixed- 
ly. A  cry  burst  from  his  lips ;  he  reeled  and  fell, 
the  money  still  clutched  in  his  hand. 

Instantly  we  were  at  his  side.  A  coach  was 
78 


The   Prioate    Letter-Box 

at  hand,  and  we  got  him  into  it  and  directed 
the  driver  to  proceed  to  Indiman's  lodgings. 
The  attack  had  been  but  a  momentary  one, 
and  Sydenham  revived  as  we  turned  out  of 
Park  Row.  He  looked  at  us,  then  at  the 
money  in  his  hand. 

"It  has  failed,"  he  said,  brokenly,  and  none 
of  us  could  say  a  word.  "  I  came  to  myself," 
continued  Sydenham,  with  forced  calmness, 
"  there  in  Nassau  Street ;  it  was  as  though  I  had 
awakened  from  a  dream.  The  money — it  was 
in  my  hand.  I  stood  before  the  world,  a  self- 
convicted  thief.  I  thank  you ;  you  have  done 
your  best,  but  it  is  useless."  He  passed  the 
money  to  Mr.  Sandford ;  mechanically  his  hand 
went  to  the  inside  breast-pocket  of  his  over- 
coat; he  drew  out  the  package  of  legal  papers 
bearing  Mr.  Sandford 's  name.  "But  —  but," 
he  stammered,  "I  don't  understand — I  left 
these  in  your  box  at  the  safe-deposit  com- 
pany." 

"To  be  sure  you  did,"  answered  Indiman, 
coolly.  He  pulled  the  check  -  cord.  "  Drive 
back  to  the  safe  deposit,"  he  called  to  the  hack- 
man. 

"Now,  then,"  said  Indiman,  in  a  quiet, 
79 


The    Gates   of    Chance 

matter-of-fact  tone,  "will  you  tell  me  the  con- 
ditions under  which  you  had  access  to  Mr. 
Sandford's  vault.  Of  course  your  name  as  an 
authorized  agent  of  Mr.  Sandford  was  on  the 
company's  books.  You  had  your  pass-key,  of 
course?" 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Sandford.  "There  was  but 
one  pass-key,  and  that  I  kept  myself.  When 
Mr.  Sydenham  had  any  business  to  do  for  me 
at  the  safe-deposit  vaults  I  would  let  him  have 
the  key  temporarily." 

"  You  gave  it  to  him  on  that  particular  day, 
the  gth  of  January?"  continued  Indiman. 

"Yes." 

"Where  is  it  now?"  almost  shouted  Indiman. 

"  Here,"  said  Mr.  Sandford,  in  surprise.  "  On 
my  key-ring." 

"Exactly.  There  is  the  broken  link  in  our 
psychological  chain.  When  Mr.  Sydenham  felt 
for  the  pass-key,  which  should  have  been  in 
his  pocket,  he  discovered  that  it  was  missing. 
Instantly  the  continuity  of  events  was  broken, 
the  subliminal  personality  was  again  submerged, 
and  Mr.  Sydenham's  normal  consciousness  was 
re-established.  Mr.  Sandford,  you  are  perfectly 
aware  of  the  fact  that  these  legal  papers  were 
80 


The    Prioate    Letter-Box 

properly  deposited  in  your  vault,  and  that  the 
pass-key  was  returned  to  you  by  Mr.  Sydenham 
on  the  morning  of  January  loth.  Gentlemen, 
it  is  evident  that  we  shall  find  the  original  fifty 
thousand  dollars  lying  in  Mr.  Sandford's  strong- 
box, where  it  was  left  by  Mr.  Sydenham  on  the 
afternoon  of  January  gth." 

I  confess  that  I  was  mightily  excited  when  the 
moment  came  to  test  the  correctness  of  Indi- 
man's  deductions.  We  were  shown  into  a  pri- 
vate room,  and,  under  Mr.  Sandford's  eye,  the 
treasure-box  belonging  to  him  was  carried  in 
and  opened.  Almost  at  the  bottom  lay  a  long, 
brown  Manila  envelope  fastened  with  three  red 
rubber  bands.  It  contained  fifty  one- thousand- 
dollar  bills. 

"I  noticed  that  envelope  several  times,"  ex- 
plained Mr,  Sandford,  "but  supposed  it  con- 
tained some  mining  stock.  You  see  here  is 
another  envelope  identical  in  appearance  and 
lying  directly  beneath  it.  Mr.  Sydenham  never 
suggested  even  that  he  might  have  left  the 
missing  money  in  my  safe-deposit  vault." 

"  It  never  occurred  to  me  that  I  could  have 
done  so,"  said  Sydenham.  "I  remembered 
making  a  deposit  of  the  papers — but  the  money, 

6  8l 


The    Gates   of   Chance 

no,  I  had  no  recollection  of  having  seen  or 
touched  it  from  the  moment  that  Alden  brought 
it  back  from  the  bank  and  laid  it  on  my  desk." 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Mr.  Sandford,  "  I  am  in- 
debted to  you  for  much  more  than  the  mere 
recovery  of  the  money.  But  we  will  speak 
of  that  again.  Where  can  I  put  you  down? 
Mr.  Sydenham  I  shall  carry  off  to  my  house ;  I 
want  to  have,  a  talk  with  him." 

But  Indiman  declined  to  re-enter  the  coach, 
pleading  some  further  business  down  -  town, 
and,  of  course,  I  remained  with  him.  The 
carriage  was  about  to  drive  off  when  Indiman 
put  up  his  hand. 

"  How  stupid  of  me!"  he  exclaimed.  "  I  had 
almost  forgotten."  He  took  from  the  pocket 
of  his  overcoat  a  rather  bulky  package  and 
handed  it  to  young  Mr.  Sydenham.  "They'll 
explain  themselves,"  he  said,  smiling.  The 
coach  rolled  away. 

"The  missing  letters  from  V.  S.,"  said  Indi- 
man, in  answer  to  my  look  of  inquiry.  "An 
average  of  two  a  day,  and  all  addressed  to  him 
at  the  Utinam.  Well,  what  was  the  poor  girl 
to  do?  The  young  fool  had  changed  his  lodg- 
ings and  obliterated  every  possible  trace  of  his 
82 


The    Prioate    Letter-Box 

whereabouts.  All  Miss  Sandford  had  to  go  on 
was  the  bare  intimation  that  he  could  be  ad- 
dressed at  the  Utinam  Club.  She  might  as 
well  have  posted  her  communications  in  the 
North  River." 

"  I  don't  follow  you." 

"Two  days  ago  I  put  a  dummy  letter  ad- 
dressed to  Sydenham  in  his  private  lock-box  at 
the  Utinam.  I  had  promised,  you  know,  to 
send  him  on  his  mail  if  he  would  keep  away 
from  the  club,  and  accordingly  I  had  the  key  of 
the  letter-box  in  my  possession.  Ten  minutes 
later  I  went  again  to  the  box  and  it  was  empty 
— that  is,  you  could  see  distinctly  from  one  end 
of  the  box  to  the  other,  and  it  was  absolutely 
bare." 

"A  duplicate  key,  of  course." 

"Not  at  all.  It  is  only  a  stupid  person  who 
descends  to  crime — except  as  a  last  resort." 

"Well,  then?" 

"  Did  you  ever  attend  any  of  the  exhibitions 
at  the  old  Egyptian  Hall?  One  of  the  favorite 
illusions  was  the  trick  cabinet  in  which  the  per- 
former seated  himself  in  full  view  of  the  spec- 
tators. The  doors  would  be  closed  for  an  in- 
stant, and  then,  when  reopened,  the  man  had 
83 


The    Gates   of    Chance 

disappeared.  The  full  interior  of  the  cabinet 
was  plainly  visible ;  it  stood  on  legs,  which  pre- 
cluded the  idea  of  a  trap-door,  and  it  was  incon- 
testably  shown  that  egress  from  the  back,  top, 
or  sides  was  impossible." 

"Yet  the  performer  was  gone?" 

"I  said  that  the  cabinet  appeared  to  be 
empty — quite  another  thing." 

"  Go  on." 

"  It  was  a  simple  arrangement  of  plate-glass 
mirrors  fitting  closely  at  the  sides  and  backed 
by  the  distinctive  pattern  of  wall-paper  with 
which  the  rest  of  the  cabinet  was  covered. 
Immediately  that  the  doors  were  closed,  the 
performer  drew  these  false  sides  outward,  so 
that  they  met  the  centre  post  of  the  doors  at  an 
acute  angle.  The  true  side  walls  were  thereby 
exposed,  and,  of  course,  they  were  papered  to 
correspond  with  the  rest  of  the  interior.  Their 
reflection  was  doubled  in  the  mirrors,  making 
it  appear  to  the  observer  that  the  whole  cabinet 
was  open  to  his  vision.  The  truth  was  that  he 
saw  only  half  of  it,  the  performer  being  con- 
cealed behind  the  mirrors.  The  only  possible 
point  at  which  the  illusion  could  be  detected 
was  the  angle  where  the  mirrors  joined,  and  this 
84 


The  Prioate    Letter-Box 

was  masked  by  the  centre  post  at  which  the 
double  doors  met.  To  conclude  the  trick,  the 
doors  were  again  closed,  the  performer  swung 
the  mirrors  back  into  place,  and,  presto !  he  was 
back  in  the  cabinet,  smiling  genially  at  the 
gaping  crowd." 

"Then  you  think—" 

"  I  know.  Lock-box  No.  82  was  constructed 
on  the  same  principle  in  miniature,  the  letter- 
slit  being  placed  in  such  a  position  that  any- 
thing deposited  in  the  box  fell  behind  the  mir- 
rors, the  whole  interior  remaining  apparently 
visible  through  the  glass  front,  and  presumably 
empty.  The  owner  of  the  box  would  naturally 
glance  into  it  before  actually  using  his  pass-key. 
Obviously,  it  were  a  waste  of  time  to  go  through 
the  form  of  opening  an  empty  box,  and  so  poor 
Sydenham  never  got  any  of  the  letters  that  were 
daily  deposited  there,  for  the  receptacle  is  a 
large  one  and  the  secret  place  behind  the  mir- 
rors was  almost  full.  The  action  of  unlocking 
the  box  operated  upon  an  interior  mechanism 
that  swung  back  the  mirrors  at  the  same  instant 
that  the  door  was  pulled  open.  After  seeing 
my  dummy  disappear,  I  tried  the  experiment, 
and  was  amply  rewarded. 
85 


The    Gates    of    Chance 

"There  isn't  much  more  to  tell.  When  I 
saw  the  letters  lying  there  I  knew  that  it  was 
all  right  so  far  as  the  girl  was  concerned.  I 
had  only  to  acquaint  Miss  Sandford  with  the 
circumstances  in  the  case  to  secure  her  fur- 
ther co-operation,  for,  of  course,  she  had  never 
ceased  to  believe  in  her  lover.  She  prepared 
and  sent  the  message  which  you  saw  delivered 
to  Sydenham  in  Sandford's  office  this  after- 
noon. 

"  But  it  was  not  the  same  as  the  one  received 
by  him  on  the  actual  January  gth.  That  con- 
tained a  word,  'yes,'  and  was  signed  by  her 
initials;  this  second  one  consisted  simply  of  a 
sprig  of  heliotrope." 

"Do  you  understand  the  language  of  flow- 
ers? The  heliotrope  means,  'Je  t'adore,'  and 
Sydenham  understood  it  instantly,  as  you 
saw." 

"Yes;  but  why— " 

"To  repeat  the  original  message  would  not 
have  impressed  him  as  I  wished ;  it  would  simply 
have  seemed  part  of  the  illusion  which  he  knew 
perfectly  well  we  were  endeavoring  to  create. 
The  problem  was  to  suddenly  startle  him  by  a 
real  communication  from  V.  S.,  and,  above  all, 
86 


The   Prioate    Letter-Box 

to  have  it  of  such  a  nature  as  to  convince  him 
that  the  cloud  between  them  had  finally  lifted. 
Now,  without  trust  and  confidence,  true  love  is 
impossible.  The  message  of  the  sprig  of  helio- 
trope told  him  all  that  he  had  been  hungering 
and  longing  to  hear  throughout  these  terrible 
two  months;  the  shock  was  sufficient  to  drive 
the  normal  consciousness  from  its  seat  and 
permit  the  subliminal  self  to  take  control.  In 
other  words,  it  practically  put  him  back  in  the 
identical  mental  mood  of  the  afternoon  of  Jan- 
uary gth,  and  that  was  the  crucial  point  of  the 
whole  experiment.  Anything  more?" 

"Who  sent  the  false  telegrams?" 

"Of  course,  you  would  ask  that.  I  don't 
know." 

"  Such  a  monstrous  wickedness!  It  is  incon- 
ceivable." 

"  Yes,  unless  we  admit  the  existence  of  a  spirit 
of  pure  malevolence  seeking  to  drive  an  inno- 
cent man  to  self-destruction  for  no  other  motive 
than  that  of  doing  evil  for  evil's  sake.  That 
such  an  intelligence  has  been  active  in  this  case 
is  certain ;  or  how  explain  the  cheat  of  the  let- 
ter-box, a  necessary  factor  in  the  problem,  as 
you  will  admit?" 

87 


The   Gates   of   Chance 

"  But  you  don't  know." 

"  Not  yet,"  answered  my  friend  Indiman. 

We  dined  down-town  that  evening,  and  it 
was  about  nine  o'clock  when  we  called  a 
hackney-coach  and  started  homeward.  As  we 
drove  on  up  the  Bowery  an  illuminated  trans- 
parency caught  our  eyes. 

" '  Fair  and  Bazaar,' "  read  Indiman.  " '  Ben- 
efit of  the  United  House  -  smiths'  Benevolent 
Association.'  What  is  a  house-smith,  Thorp? 
Evidently  we  will  have  to  go  and  find  out  for 
ourselves."  He  pulled  the  check-cord  and 
gave  the  driver  the  new  direction.  Pure  fool- 
ishness, of  course,  but  Indiman  was  not  to  be 
put  out  of  his  humor. 

Up  one  flight  of  stairs  to  a  large,  low-ceilinged 
hall  that  was  jammed  to  suffocation.  A  score 
of  gayly  trimmed  booths  wherein  were  dis- 
played various  articles  of  feminine  fallals  and 
cheap  bric-k-brac,  each  presided  over  by  a  lady 
house-smith.  ' '  Or  should  it  be  house-smithess  ?' ' 
asked  Indiman.  "Hullo!  What's  this?" 

Behind  a  long  counter  covered  with  red-paper 
muslin  sat  a  dozen  young  women  of  more  or 
less  pronounced  personal  charms,  and  a  huge 
88 


The   Prioate    Letter-Box 

placard  announced  that  kisses  were  on  sale  at 
the  uniform  price  of  fifty  cents.  ' '  Take  your  own 
choice."  Smaller  cards  bore  the  various  cogno- 
mens assumed  for  the  occasion  by  the  fair  ven- 
ders of  oscul  atory  delights .  ' '  Cleopatra , "  "  The 
Fair  One  with  Golden  Locks,"  "Kathleen  Ma- 
vourneen,"  "  Pocahontas,"  or  more  simply,  al- 
beit not  less  mysteriously,  "Miss  A.  B.,"  or 
"Mademoiselle  X."  Of  course,  each  had 
dressed  the  part  as  nearly  as  might  be,  and 
the  exhibition  was  certainly  attractive  to  the 
masculine  eye.  In  questionable  taste,  no  doubt, 
but  one  does  not  stand  upon  trifles  when  it  is 
all  for  sweet  charity's  sake. 

"My  dear  Thorp,"  said  Indiman,  with  the 
utmost  gravity,  "  have  you  half  a  dollar  in  your 
pocket?  Then  come  with  me,"  and  forthwith 
we  jammed  and  corkscrewed  our  way  through 
the  crowd  until  we  reached  the  long  counter 
covered  with  red-paper  muslin 


The    Nincty-and-nine    Kisses 


HE  fair  and  bazaar  of  the  United 
House-smiths'  Benevolent  Association 
was  assuredly  a  tremendous  success, 
and  not  the  least  of  its  attractions 
was  the  open  market  where  kisses 
might  be  purchased  at  the  ridiculous- 
ly small  price  of  fifty  cents  each.  But  "Cash 
before  delivery"  was  the  motto,  and  on  the 
counter  in  front  of  each  young  woman  stood 
a  brass  bowl  in  which  the  purchaser  deposit- 
ed his  money — "Free  list  entirely  suspended." 
One  could  see  that  "The  Fair  One  with  Golden 
Locks,"  a  large,  full-fed  blonde  with  extraor- 
dinarily vivid  red  cheeks,  had  been  doing  a 
rushing  business;  her  bowl  was  overflowing 
with  notes  and  coin.  And  the  others  also 
had  done  well,  all  except  "Mademoiselle  D.," 
the  girl  at  the  far  end;  she  had  not  made  a 
90 


The   Ninety-and-nine    Kisses 

single  sale.  A  slight  little  thing,  pale  and 
somewhat  anxious-looking ;  no  wonder  that  cus- 
tomers had  passed  her  by.  Then  she  looked 
up,  and  we  both  caught  our  breath.  What 
eyes!  Eyes  of  the  purest,  serenest  gray — 
gray  of  that  rare  quality  that  holds  no  tint 
of  either  green  or  blue.  Her  eyes  were  her 
one  beauty  indeed,  but  the  superlative  mira- 
cle of  loveliness  is  best  seen  when  it  stands 
alone.  And  these  dolts  of  house -smiths  had 
passed  on  to  sample  the  pink-and-white  con- 
fectionery at  the  other  end  of  the  counter. 

"One  hundred,  if  you  please,"  and  Indiman 
laid  a  fifty -dollar  bill  in  the  bowl  of  the  girl  with 
the  gray  eyes.  The  crowd  stopped  and  gaped, 
and  "Mademoiselle  D."  turned  from  white  to 
red  and  then  to  white  again. 

"  Bought  up  the  whole  stock,  boss?"  asked  a 
foolish-looking  youth  whose  collar  was  slowly 
but  surely  choking  him  to  death. 

"Better  take  a  couple  on  account,"  said  the 
pert  damsel  attached  to  the  young  fellow's  arm ; 
"  they  might  turn  sour  on  you,  Mister  Man." 

"Give  'em  away  with  a  pound  of  tea,"  put 
in  a  third  joker.  "  Eh,  Josie?" 

"Let's  get  away  from  here,"  whispered  Indi- 


The   Gates   of!   Chance 

man  to  me.     "The  girl  looks  as  though  she 
might  faint." 

We  pushed  on  through  the  crowd  that  con- 
tinued to  chaff  us  good-naturedly — "joshing" 
they  called  it.  Then  we  managed  to  struggle 
into  a  sort  of  backwater  at  the  side  of  the  dais 
upon  which  an  alleged  string  band  was  trying  to 
make  good,  as  the  scornful  Miss  Josie  remarked. 

"There's  something  wrong  in  this,  Thorp," 
said  Indiman  to  me,  in  an  undertone.  "Did 
you  notice  the  stout  man  who  stood  immedi- 
ately behind  her?" 

"  The  chap  with  one  ear  a  full  size  larger  than 
the  other?  Yes,  I  did." 

"  He  never  takes  his  eyes  from  her,  and  I  be- 
lieve that  the  girl  is  here  against  her  will." 

"Indiman! — "  I  began,  but  he  cut  me  short. 

"  I  know  it,  I  tell  you,  and  I'm  going  to  take 
her  away.  Do  you  see  that  electric-light  switch 
on  the  wall  behind  you?" 

Back  of  the  musicians'  platform  was  a  small 
wall  cupboard  holding  the  usual  apparatus  for 
controlling  the  incandescent  lights  with  which 
the  hall  was  illuminated. 

"Pull  down  both  handles  when  I  give  the 
signal,"  he  went  on,  imperturbably. 
92 


The    Ninetg-and-nine   Kisses 

"What  signal?" 

Indiman  considered.  "I'll  take  one  of  my 
kisses,"  he  said,  smiling. 

"I'll  do  nothing  of  the  kind." 

"  Oh  yes,  you  will.  Remember  now — the  in- 
stant that  I  bend  down  to  kiss  her." 

He  was  gone,  leaving  me  to  curse  his  folly. 
I  tried  to  overtake  him,  but  the  foolish  youth 
and  his  Josie  blocked  my  way,  intentionally, 
it  seemed;  that  was  part  of  their  joshing  of 
the  stranger  within  the  house-smiths'  gates.  I 
stepped  up  on  the  platform,  and  looked  for  In- 
diman. He  had  just  reached  the  counter  cov- 
ered with  red-paper  muslin ;  he  pushed  his  way 
up  to  the  girl  with  the  gray  eyes  and  said  some- 
thing to  her.  She  seemed  to  shrink  away.  In- 
diman turned  for  an  instant  and  looked  back 
at  me,  then  he  bent  down  and  kissed  her. 

Without  having  had  the  slightest  intention 
of  so  doing,  I  pulled  down  both  handles ;  the  hall 
was  in  instant  and  utter  darkness.  For  a  mo- 
ment the  following  silence  persisted,  menacing 
and  deadly;  it  was  as  though  panic  had  sud- 
denly reared  her  frightful  head,  a  wild  beast 
ready  to  spring. 

A  girl's  light  laugh  turned  the  scale.  "Try- 
93 


The    Gates    of    Chance 

ing  to  raid  the  fruit-stand,  are  you,  bub?"  went 
on  Miss  Josie,  in  her  thin,  cool  voice.  "  Thought 
you  could  pinch  a  couple  in  the  dark  of  the 
moon ;  but  nay,  nay,  Thomas  —  those  two 
smacks  '11  just  cost  you  supper  for  four.  I'm 
not  sitting  behind  the  bargain-counter  to-day, 
thank  you." 

A  babel  of  cat -calls,  oaths,  and  laughter 
broke  out,  but  the  tension  had  been  released 
and  the  danger  was  over.  I  pushed  and  jammed 
through  the  crowd  to  the  stairs.  No  one  was  at- 
tempting to  leave ;  in  the  hall  they  had  just  got 
the  lights  turned  on  again.  I  started  down. 

"Here,  you!" 

I  looked  back ;  the  stout  man  with  the  dispro- 
portionate ears  stood  at  the  head  of  the  stairs, 
hemmed  in  by  the  crowd.  He  panted  and 
shook  his  clinched  fist  at  me.  "You! — you!" 
he  shouted,  impotently.  I  ran  on. 

In  the  street  below  Indiman  was  helping  the 
girl  into  the  coach.  He  turned  as  I  ran  up. 

"  Good !"  he  said,  and  offered  me  his  cigarette- 
case. 

"The  big  fellow  is  coming  down,"  I  urged. 

"Have  a  light,"  said  Indiman.  "And  now, 
my  son,  allons!" 

94 


The    Ninetg-and-nine    Kisses 

I  stepped  into  the  coach,  and  Indiman  after 
me.  There  was  a  sound  of  angry  voices  from 
the  hall  above ;  two  or  three  men  dashed  down 
the  stairway,  others  following. 

"Drive  on!"  shouted  Indiman,  and  the  car- 
riage started.  Then  we  both  turned  and  looked 
blankly  at  that  empty  back  seat. 

Indiman  bit  his  lip.  "It  is  an  old  trick — 
leaving  by  the  other  door,"  he  said,  quietly. 
"It  was  while  we  were  lighting  our  cigarettes; 
and  that  reminds  me  that  I  have  decided  to  give 
up  the  habit."  He  tossed  his  cigarette  out  of 
the  window;  the  coach  rolled  away. 

Private  business  called  me  to  Washington 
the  next  day,  and  I  had  to  take  the  night  train 
back,  arriving  in  New  York  at  the  uncomfort- 
ably early  hour  of  seven.  But  it  was  some  small 
satisfaction  to  rap  vigorously  upon  Indiman's 
door  as  I  passed  to  my  own  room.  One  always 
experiences  a  sense  of  virtue  in  being  up  at  un- 
seasonable hours,  and  blessings  should  be  shared 
with  one's  friends.  Later  on  we  met  at  break- 
fast, and  he  did  not  thank  me. 

The  following  paragraph  in  the  "Personal" 
column  of  the  Herald  caught  my  eye.  "  Listen 
95 


The   Gates   of   Chance 

to  this,"  I  said,  and  read  it  aloud  to  my  sulky 
host: 

"  '  To  Mademoiselle  D., — There  are  ninety-and-nine 
kisses  still  due  me,  and  I  propose  to  collect.  Box  90, 
Herald  office  (up-town),  or  telephone  18,901  Madison 
Square.  (Private  wire.)  "  '  HOUSE-SMITH.'  " 

Esper  Indiman  smiled  and  touched  an  electric 
button.  ' '  The  letters,  Bolder, ' '  he  said,  but  the 
man  had  anticipated  his  request,  and  was  carry- 
ing in  a  salver  heaped  high  with  missives  and 
papers. 

"I  had  the  personal  put  in  the  Herald  the 
same  night  of  our  adventure  at  the  House- 
smiths'  bazaar,"  said  Indiman.  "Also  repeated 
in  to-day's  issue." 

"It  seems  to  be  bearing  a  fine  crop  of  re- 
plies." 

"There's  a  bushel  -  basket  of  'em  already — 
mostly  from  the  alleged  humorist.  Or  else  it's 
this  sort  of  thing,"  and  he  tossed  over  an  ex- 
traordinary piece  of  stationery — white  cream- 
laid,  with  edging  like  a  mourning  band,  only 
pink  instead  of  black ;  think  of  that ! 

Of  course,  the  contents  of  the  letter  did  not 
belie  its  exterior.  "Mr.  House-smith"  was  in- 
formed that  not  only  ninety-nine,  but  nine  hun- 
96 


The    ftinety-and-nine    Kisses 

dred  and  ninety-nine,  kisses  were  at  his  disposal 
whenever  he  cared  to  communicate  with  Miss 
Delicia  Millefleurs.  The  writing  was  somewhat 
shaky,  and  "communicate"  was  spelled  with 
one  m.  Moreover,  the  general  appearance  of 
the  epistle  was  marred  by  the  presence  of  a  large 
blot.  But  Miss  Millefleurs  was  plainly  a  young 
person  of  instant  ingenuity,  and  she  had  turned 
the  disfigurement  to  good  purpose  by  drawing 
a  circle  around  it  and  labelling  it,  "  One  on  ac- 
count." 

"Then  there's  this,"  said  Indiman,  and  hand- 
ed me  a  sheet  of  foolscap  which  had  been  folded 
and  sealed  without  an  envelope,  after  the  fash- 
ion of  our  great-grandfathers.  On  it  was  pasted 
a  strip  of  the  tape  used  in  electric-recording 
instruments,  and  the  characters  were  those  of 
the  Morse  alphabet,  rather  an  unusual  sight 
nowadays,  when  receiving  messages  by  sound 
is  the  universal  practice.  Underneath  the 
row  of  dots  and  dashes  had  been  written 
their  English  equivalents  in  Indiman's  small, 
close  handwriting.  The  transcribed  message 
read: 

"  One  thousand  (s)  dollars  apiece  (s)  offered  for  any 
or  all  of  ninety-nine  (s)  kisses,  undelivered.     Take 
7  97 


The    Gates   of   Chance 

car  No.  6  (s), '  Blue  Line  '  crosstown,  any  (s)  evening, 
and  get  off  at  West  Fourth  Street.  Purchase  two 
pounds  of  the  best  (s)  butter  at  the  corner  grocery, 
and  ask  for  a  purple  trading  (s)  stamp." 

"Quite  as  extravagant  as  the  advertise- 
ment that  called  it  forth,"  I  remarked."  "To 
the  wholly  impartial  mind  it  seems  like  non- 
sense." 

"'Ah,  but  what  precious  nonsense!'"  quoted 
Indiman,  musingly.  Then,  suddenly:  "Thorp, 
we  need  butter;  I  wish  you'd  step  around  to 
that  West  Fourth  Street  grocery  and  get  a 
couple  of  pounds — the  best  butter,  mind." 

I  rose.     "Certainly;  back  in  half  an  hour." 

"Oh,  this  evening  is  time  enough.  Man, 
man,  can't  you  see  through  a  ladder?  They're 
after  the  girl  with  the  gray  eyes,  and  hope  in 
this  way  to  get  a  clew  to  her  whereabouts. 
Now,  you  can't  fight  shadows;  the  only  chance 
is  to  match  them  against  each  other.  Do  I 
make  myself  quite  clear?" 

"  Not  in  the  least." 

"I  want  to  know  who  sends  that  message, 
and  it's  possible  that  the  answer  is  right  un- 
der our  eyes."  He  held  up  the  strip  of  telegra- 
phic tape.  "  Do  you  see  the  letter  s,  enclosed 
98 


The    Ninety-and-nine    Kisses 

in  parentheses,  and  repeated  before  several 
words?" 

"Means  nothing,  so  far  as  I  see." 

"  Unless  it's  a  habit  with  the  operator  to  oc- 
casionally sound  the  three  dots  that  make  up 
the  letter  s  in  the  Morse  alphabet  —  uncon- 
sciously, you  know,  and  just  as  another  man, 
in  speaking,  might  stutter  or  continually  intro- 
duce a  hesitating  '  er '  or  '  um.' " 

"  Impossible." 

"Nothing  is  impossible,  my  dear  fellow." 
Here  the  bell  of  the  desk  -  telephone  rang. 
"  For  example,  this  call  may  be  from  Mademoi- 
selle D.  herself."  He  picked  up  the  receiver 
and  held  it  to  his  ear.  "  It  is,"  he  said,  looking 
over  at  me. 

The  weather  conditions  happened  to  be  par- 
ticularly favorable  for  telephonic  communica- 
tion ;  I  could  hear  almost  as  distinctly,  standing 
on  my  side  of  the  table,  as  Indiman  himself. 
I  started  to  walk  away,  then  I  stopped,  and  an- 
nounced my  intention  of  listening  also ;  Indiman 
nodded  assent. 

There  was  unmistakable  annoyance  and  anx- 
iety in  the  tones  of  the  voice  that  greeted  us. 
"I  have  just  seen  your  absurd  advertisement," 
99 


The    Gates   of    Chance 

it  began.  "  I  beg  of  you  to  let  this  matter  drop, 
instantly,  finally." 

"A  request  without  a  reason,"  answered  In- 
diman.  "You  owe  me  something  more  than 
that." 

"There  is  danger — " 

"To  me  or  to  you?" 

"To  yourself." 

"I  am  sorry,  but  you  have  indicated  the 
sole  condition  which  makes  my  withdrawal 
possible." 

A  little  feminine  sigh  came  from  the  other  end 
of  the  wire.  "Oh,  dear,  it  was  so  stupid  of  me 
to  say  that — to  a  man!"  A  pause.  Then,  in  a 
slightly  vexed  tone,  "Supposing  that  it  is  a 
question  of  minding  one's  own  business." 

"  Precisely  what  I  am  trying  to  do,"  said  In- 
diman,  humbly.  "  It  is  a  settlement  that  I  am 
proposing." 

"I  perceive,  sir,  that  I  am  making  myself 
ridiculous,"  and  the  voice  sounded  cold  and  in- 
conceivably distant.  "I  have  the  honor  to 
wish  you  a  very  good  -  morning."  The  tele- 
phone rang  off  sharply. 

I  fancy  that  the  same  thought  was  in  both  our 
minds:  Could  this  be  the  same  woman  whom 
100 


The  Ninety-and-nine    Kisses 

we  had  seen  selling  her  kisses  at  an  East  Side 
bazaar?  The  very  thought  was  incredible.  And 
remember  that  we  had  not  heard  her  voice  be- 
fore. Yet  neither  of  us  doubted,  even  for  a 
moment. 

"After  all,  it  was  only  the  one  kiss  that  was 
actually  sold  and  delivered,"  said  Indiman, 
half -defiantly.  But  he  need  not  have  defended 
her  to  me. 

It  was  getting  to  be  a  very  pretty  problem 
as  it  stood,  the  one  obvious  probability  being 
that  it  was  the  girl  herself  who  stood  in  danger. 
What  could  we  do?  To  discover  the  nature  of 
the  impending  peril  and,  above  all,  the  per- 
sonnel of  the  conspirators.  And  then  what? 
How  were  we  to  communicate  with  or  warn  the 
girl  ? — for,  of  course,  she  had  called  up  Indiman 
from  a  public  pay-station,  leaving  no  clew  to 
her  identity  or  address.  Well,  there  was  still 
the  Personal  column  in  the  Herald;  it  had 
reached  her  once  and  might  again. 

"  I  am  going  down-town  to  the  main  office  of 
the  Western  Union,"  said  Indiman,  "and  may 
be  away  all  day.  If  I  shouldn't  return  by 
dinner-time,  you  will  carry  out  the  instructions 
in  the  message.  Exactly,  remember — car  No.  6, 


The    Gates   of    Chance 

and  the  best  butter — each  detail  may  be  im- 
portant. About  nine  o'clock  should  be  a  good 
hour." 

"I  understand,"  I  said,  and  we  parted. 

At  exactly  half  after  nine  that  evening  I 
stepped  off  car  No.  6  at  the  crossing  of- West 
Fourth  and  Eleventh  streets.  The  grocery  was 
on  the  northwest  corner,  and  I  entered  without 
hesitation. 

Like  many  other  big  cities,  New  York  (even 
excluding  the  transpontine  suburbs)  is  a  collec- 
tion of  towns  and  villages  rather  than  a  homo- 
geneous municipality.  Chelsea  and  Harlem 
and  the  upper  West  Side — all  these  are  distinct 
and  separate  centres  of  community  life.  Green- 
wich Village  knows  naught  of  Yorkville,  and  the 
East  Side  Ghetto  has  no  dealings  with  the  in- 
habitants of  the  French  quarter. 

Now  the  small  area  bounded  by  Waverley 
Place,  Christopher,  West  Fourth,  and  West 
Eleventh  streets  is  also  a  law  unto  itself.  The 
neighborhood  is  respectable  and  severely  old 
fashioned,  the  houses  large  and  comfortable, 
and  the  resident  population  almost  entirely  na- 
tive New-Yorkers  in  moderate  circumstances. 
A  village,  then,  with  its  shops  and  school-houses 


The    Ninety-and-nine    Kisses 

and  churches;  it  is  as  provincial  in  its  way  as 
the  Lonely ville  of  the  comic  weeklies.  The 
grocery  is  the  village  club,  at  least  for  the  re- 
spectable part  of  the  male  population,  the  men 
who  would  not  be  seen  in  a  corner  saloon. 
There  were  half  a  dozen  of  the  regulars  now  in 
the  shop,  seated  on  boxes  and  chairs  around  the 
stove,  for  it  was  a  raw  and  chilly  day.  They 
looked  up  as  I  entered,  but  no  one  moved  or 
spoke.  Undoubtedly  my  man  was  in  the  group, 
but  how  to  pick  him  out.  I  walked  to  the  coun- 
ter and  addressed  the  young  fellow  who  lounged 
behind  it. 

"  Two  pounds  of  the  best  butter,  please." 

"All  out,"  was  the  unexpected  reply. 

"All  out!"  I  repeated,  stupidly. 

"  None  of  the  best — that's  what  I  said." 

"I  wanted  a  purple  trading-stamp,"  I  went 
on,  helplessly. 

"Anything  over  five  cents'  worth  —  jar  of 
pickles,  if  you  like." 

"  No,  not  that.  Here,  give  me — how  much 
are  those  cigars?" 

"Five  and  ten." 

"Ten  cents,  then." 

The  young  man  handed  out  the  box 
103 


The    Gates    of    Chance 

with   a  nonchalant  air.     "Help  yourself,"  he 
said. 

I  selected  a  cigar.  "  You're  sure  you  haven't 
any  butter — the  best  butter?" 

"Ah,  now,  whadjer  giving  us?  This  ain't 
no  Tiffany  &  Co.  Best  butter?  Uh!  PYaps 
you'd  like  to  take  a  peck  of  di'monds  home  wid 
jer — the  best  di'monds,  mind,  all  ready  shelled 
and  fried  in  gold-dust.  And  just  throw  in  a 
bunch  of  them  German-silver  banglelets  for  the 
salad.  Yessir ;  charge  'em  to  Mr.  Astor,  Astor- 
ville,  N.  G." 

The  loungers  about  the  stove  sniggered  au- 
dibly, but  something  in  the  fellow's  voice  made 
me  forget  his  insolence.  I  looked  up  and  into 
the  eyes  of  Esper  Indiman. 

I  think  I  did  it  pretty  well — the  cool,  ignoring 
stare  with  which  one  is  accustomed  to  put  a 
boor  out  of  countenance. 

"  Let  me  have  a  light,"  I  went  on,  quietly,  and 
the  pretended  grocer's  boy  was  zealous  to  oblige, 
scratching  the  match  himself  and  leaning  across 
the  counter  to  hold  the  flame  to  the  cigar  end. 

"Coach   waiting   for   you   in   front   of   the 
church,"  he  whispered.     "  Drive  straight  home 
and  slowly — to  give  him  a  chance." 
104 


The    Ninetij-and-nine    Kisses 

I  left  the  shop  without  troubling  to  glance  at 
the  loungers  about  the  fire;  Indiman  would  at- 
tend to  that  part  of  the  business.  The  coach 
was  in  waiting  at  the  Baptist  Church,  and  the 
driver  touched  his  hat  when  I  mentioned  my 
name.  I  gave  him  the  address,  and  told  him 
to  drive  slowly.  As  we  turned  into  Seventh 
Avenue  I  looked  back  and  saw  a  cab  fol- 
lowing. 

An  hour  later  Indiman  came  in  and  joined 
me  in  the  library.  "Now,  then!"  I  said,  im- 
patiently, after  waiting  to  see  him  mix  a  high- 
ball and  light  a  tremendously  black  breva. 
Indiman  is  a  little  provoking  at  times  with  his 
infinite  deliberation. 

"Where  were  we?"  he  began.  "Ah,  yes,  I 
had  my  theory  about  finding  the  chap  who 
wrote  out  that  message.  It  was  correct — ab- 
solutely so,"  and  Indiman  puffed  away  in 
dreamy  content,  staring  up  at  the  ceiling. 

"  I  know  Mason  of  the  main  Western  Union 
office  quite  well,  and  he  was  most  obliging. 
Recognized  the  peculiarity  of  the  telegraphic 
sending  at  once;  there  actually  was  a  fellow 
who  had  a  habit  of  interjecting  the  superfluous 
s  in  his  despatches.  Name  of  Ewall,  and  he 
105 


The    Gates   of   Chance 

was  the  operator  in  a  sub-station  near  Jefferson 
Market. 

"Well,  I  posted  up  there  and  sounded  him. 
He  didn't  know  anything  about  it  at  first,  so  I 
had  to  scare  him  a  bit ;  he  weakened  then,  and 
told  me  what  I  wanted  to  know. 

"Of  course  it  wasn't  a  real  message;  he  had 
run  it  off  on  his  machine  at  the  request  of  a 
queer-looking  gentleman  who  had  given  him  a 
couple  of  dollars  for  his  trouble.  According 
to  his  description,  the  man  was  stout  and  dark, 
with  one  ear— the  left — decidedly  larger  than 
the  other." 

"Aha!  the  fellow  we  saw  at  the  bazaar.  But 
he  wasn't  in  the  group  about  the  grocery  stove." 

"  Of  course  not,  but  he  had  his  capper  there." 

"Goon." 

"  Well,  I  thanked  Mr.  Ewall  for  his  informa- 
tion, and  left  him  with  a  solemn  admonition  to 
be  more  careful  in  the  future  about  doing  busi- 
ness on  the  side.  Then  I  sat  down  to  consider. 

"Now,  I  was  sure  that  the  grocery  and  its 
proprietor,  the  two  pounds  of  the  best  butter, 
and  the  purple  trading-stamp  had  nothing  to 
do  with  the  real  business  of  the  evening.  The 
game  was  simply  to  identify  the  '  Mr.  House- 
106 


The    Ninety-and-nine    Kisses 

smith'  who  had  advertised  for  his  ninety-and- 
nine  kisses,  and  the  clap-trap  of  the  message  in 
telegraphic  characters,  and  all  the  rest  of  it,  were 
simply  the  kind  of  bait  at  which  so  eccentric  a 
person  might  be  expected  to  bite.  The  gentle- 
man with  one  ear  larger  than  the  other  desired 
to  find  the  elusive  Mademoiselle  D.,  erstwhile 
dispenser  of  kisses  at  an  East  Side  charity 
bazaar,  and,  consequently,  he  was  following  up 
every  possible  clew.  He  wanted  'Mr.  House- 
smith,'  and  I  wanted  him. 

"Fight  shadows  with  shadows,  remember; 
and  so  I  took  service  with  my  honest  friend, 
David  Brown,  dealer  in  groceries  at  West 
Fourth  and  Eleventh  streets.  He  was  rather 
offish  at  first,  but  Mattson,  at  Police  Head- 
quarters, had  provided  me  with  a  special  de- 
tective badge,  and  Mr.  Brown  was  led  to  believe 
that  I  was  working  up  a  case  of  graft.  He  lent 
me  a  jumper,  and  I  was  forthwith  installed  be- 
hind the  counter. 

"  Everything  went  off  according  to  schedule. 
The  'shadow'  had  his  cab  in  readiness  and  I 
had  mine.  He  trailed  you  to  No.  4020  Madi- 
son Avenue,  and  I  followed  Mr.  Shadow  to  the 
Central  Detective  Office.  It  seems  to  have 
107 


The   Gates   of   Chance 

been  a  case  of  sleuth  against  sleuth,  with  the 
match  all  square." 

"Anything  else?" 

"Well,  yes.  As  I  came  into  the  house  just 
now,  two  men  were  waiting  for  me  in  the  ves- 
tibule. They  went  through  me;  but  I  didn't 
seem  to  have  what  they  wanted.  I  still  retain 
possession  of  my  watch  and  purse." 

"So,"  I  said,  somewhat  helplessly.  "What's 
the  next  move  on  the  board?" 

"It  is  the  last  night  of  the  supplementary 
opera  season,"  answered  Indiman,  "and  we  are 
going  to  dress  and  see  what  we  can  of  Tschai- 
kowsky's  'Queen  of  Spades.'  A  novelty — first 
and  only  performance  outside  of  Russia,  and 
Ternina  heads  the  cast." 

"There  is  Mademoiselle  D.,"  remarked  In- 
diman, as  his  glass  swept  the  semicircle  of 
the  parterre.  "The  fourth  box  from  the 
end." 

There  were  but  three  people  in  the  party — 
the  girl  with  the  gray  eyes,  an  elderly  man  with 
a  ribbon  in  his  button-hole,  and  Jack  Crawfurd, 
whom  everybody  knows. 

The  curtain  fell  on  the  third  act,  and  imme- 
108 


The    Ninety-and-nine    Kisses 

diately  Crawfurd  made  his  appearance  in  the 
omnibus-box  where  we  were  sitting. 

"Come  with  me,  mes  enfants,"  he  said,  ge- 
nially. "It  seems  that  you  and  the  adorable 
Countess  Gilda  are  old  friends.  She  commands 
your  instant  attendance.  What,  man !  do  you 
hesitate  ?  I  shall  lose  my  head  an  our  sovereign 
lady  be  not  instantly  obeyed." 

The  girl  with  the  gray  eyes  greeted  us  with 
smiling  unconcern.  ' '  Do  you  know  my  uncle  ?' ' 
she  asked,  and  we  were  forthwith  presented  to 
his  Excellency  Baron  Cassilis,  the  Russian  am- 
bassador to  the  United  States.  Then  the  Coun- 
tess Gilda  addressed  herself  squarely  to  Indiman. 

"  I  am  in  your  debt,  Mr.  Indiman,  and  you 
must  permit  me  to  discharge  the  obligation. 
My  dear  uncle,  your  purse." 

Indiman  bowed  and  accepted  the  fifty-dollar 
bill  tendered  him. 

"  Now  we  are  quits,"  she  said,  smiling. 

"Not  quite,"  he  answered,  hardily.  He 
drew  a  half-dollar  from  his  waistcoat -pocket 
and  offered  it  to  her.  A  flood  of  color  mantled 
her  brow,  but  she  took  the  coin  and  slipped  it 
into  her  glove.  "Well?"  she  asked,  her  small 
chin  defiantly  uptilted. 
109 


The    Gates    of   Chance 

"I  have  only  .one  question,"  said  Indiman, 
earnestly.  "Is  there  danger  for  you?" 

"None  in  the  world." 

"Then  I  am  quite  satisfied." 

She  softened  at  that.  "  Only  a  rather  -ag- 
gravating disappointment;  it  does  not  matter 
now.  But  why  will  you  men  interfere  in  an 
unoffending  woman's  affairs." 

"I  had  no  idea — " 

"  Of  course  not.  However,  we  need  not  enter 
further  into  particulars.  Your  friend  in  the 
orchestra-stall  yonder  will  doubtless  enlighten 
you  later  on."  A  stout  man  with  one  ear  dis- 
tinctly larger  than  the  other  deliberately  faced 
about  in  his  seat  and  directed  his  glasses  at  our 
box.  Immediately  upon  this  the  curtain  went 
up  on  the  last  act,  and  his  Excellency  held  up 
his  hand  to  command  silence. 

"  Madame,"  said  Indiman,  as  he  handed  the 
Countess  Gilda  to  her  carriage,  "  I  swear  to  you 
that  the  blunder  I  have  unintentionally  com- 
mitted shall  be  atoned  for.  I  ask  but  a  hint — 
the  slightest  of  clews." 

"  With  pleasure,  monsieur.  I  give  you,  there- 
fore, the  third  appearance  of  the  Queen  of  Spades. 
Au  revoir !  We  sail  to-morrow  by  the  Cunarder. ' ' 
no 


The   Ninety-and-nine    Kisses 

The  man  with  the  disproportionate  ears 
touched  Indiman's  elbow.  "  Beg  pardon,  sir," 
he  said,  deferentially,  "but  I  shall  have  to  have 
a  word  or  two  with  you." 

We  drove  to  the  Utinam  Club  and  found  a 
secluded  corner.  "Now,  what  is  it,  officer?" 
said  Indiman. 

The  detective  looked  rather  sheepish.  "  I'm 
afraid  we've  made  a  mess  of  it  between  us. 
Case  of  political  blackmail,  you  see,  and  the 
young  lady  thought  she  could  handle  it  her- 
self. And  so  she  could  have  done  if  we  hadn't 
butted  in,  begging  your  pardon  for  so  say- 
ing." 

"Get  to  the  point." 

"Well,  then,  it's  a  question  of  a  letter  be- 
longing to  a  great  person  in  Roosha — written 
to  or  by  her  don't  matter.  The  letter  is  here  in 
New  York,  and  it  isn't  a  question  of  money 
with  the  holder,  but  power.  There's  only  one 
thing  to  do  in  that  case — steal  it,  and  the 
Countess  thought  she  could  turn  the  trick.  So 
she  went  over  on  the  Rooshan  East  Side  and 
laid  her  pipes  to  stand  next  to  the  old  party 
who  holds  the  precious  document.  At  the 
Earon's  request  I  was  detailed  from  the  Central 


The    Gates   of   Chance 

Office  and  instructed  to  keep  my  eyes  on  the 
young  woman  and  my  hands  off  the  case. 
'Course,  then,  I  couldn't  do  neither.  I  lost 
the  girl  when  you  walked  off  with  her  at 
the  house  -  smiths'  bazaar,  and  then  I  had  to 
stick  in  my  oar  and  answer  your  personal 
in  the  Herald.  I  laid  what  I  thought  was 
a  pretty  smart  trap.  You  fell  into  it,  right 
enough." 

"  So  you  were  the  fellow  who  had  me  searched 
and  held  up  at  my  own  front  door,"  said  Indi- 
man.  "  Confound  your  impudence !  What  did 
you  expect  to  get?" 

"Why,  the  letter,  sir.  I  had  figured  it  out 
that  you  was  the  black-mailer." 

"Oh,  the  deuce!  And  in  the  mean  time  the 
real  article  had  been  put  on  his  or  her  guard  by 
all  this  hullabaloo,  and  the  Countess  Gilda's 
game  was  blocked." 

"That's  it,  sir.     A  mistake  all  round." 

"I  should  think  so.  Well,  there's  nothing 
more  to  be  done.  That's  all  you  know  about 
the  case?" 

"That's  all,  sir." 

"  Never  heard  of  the  Queen  of  Spades  in  this 
connection?" 

112 


The   Ninety-and-nine    Kisses 

"Never,  sir." 

"Well,  good-night,  officer.  Brownson's  your 
name,  eh?  I  sha'n't  forget  it." 

"Good-night,  sir." 

The  night  was  fine,  and  we  walked  home. 
Over  on  Eighth  Avenue  a  masquerade  ball  was 
in  progress;  we  passed  under  the  brightly  lit 
windows  of  the  hall  in  which  it  was  being  held. 
A  masker  stood  at  the  door,  a  woman  dressed 
to  impersonate  the  Queen  of  Spades.  She 
waved  her  hand  to  Indiman,  who  had  chanced 
to  look  up;  then  she  plucked  a  rose  from  her 
bodice  and  tossed  it  over  to  him.  He  caught 
the  flower,  as  becomes  a  gallant  man,  but  im- 
mediately walked  on. 

"That  was  your  cue — the  Queen  of  Spades," 
I  said. 

"  Not  at  all.  It  is  only  the  third  time  that 
counts.  First  at  the  opera,  and  now  here ;  the 
final  and  only  important  appearance  is  still  to 
come." 

At  the  next  corner  a  wretchedly  clad  woman 
sat  grinding  a  small  barrel-organ.  "For  the 
love  of  Mary!"  she  whimpered,  and  Indiman 
thrust  something  into  her  waiting  hand.  He 
tried  to  hide  the  action,  but  I  had  caught  sight 
»  113 


The    Gates   o*   Chance 

of  the  money — a.  yellow -backed  bill  bearing  the 
magic  figures  50. 

"Did  you  notice  the  tune?"  said  Indiman, 
as  we  walked  on.     "The  Ninety-and-Nine." 


VI 
The    Queen   of   Spades 

AM  very  fond  of  Esper  Indiman,  but 
there  are  times  when  he  is  positively 
unfit  for  human  society.  Last  week, 
for  instance,  when  for  three  days  on 
end  we  did  not  exchange  a  single 
word,  not  even  at  dinner,  where  the 
amenities  should  come  on  at  least  with  the 
walnuts.  I  grant  you  that  humdrum  wears 
upon  the  spirit,  that  the  flatness  of  the  daily 
road  may  be  a  harder  thing  to  get  over  than 
even  Mr.  Bunyan's  hill  Difficulty,  but  for  a 
man  to  surrender  himself  mind  and  body  to 
solitaire  argues  weakness.  Moreover,  it  was 
a  ridiculous  combination  of  the  cards  that 
Indiman  invariably  set  himself  to  resolve ;  the 
chances  were  at  least  a  hundred  to  one  against 
the  solitaire  coming  out,  and,  indeed,  I  never 
saw  him  get  it  but  once.  Under  rather  curious 
"5 


The    Gates   of    Chance 

circumstances,  too — but  I  won't  anticipate ;  let 
us  begin  with  the  beginning  of  the  adventure 
of  the  Queen  of  Spades. 

You  will  remember  that  there  was  a  mislaid 
letter  whose  possession  had  become  a  matter  of 
supreme  importance  to  a  certain  great  person 
in  Russia.  The  Countess  Gilda  (she  of  the 
Ninety-and-nine  Kisses)  had  been  on  the  point  of 
obtaining  the  treasure,  but  the  over-confidence 
of  my  friend  Indiman,  coupled  with  the  blund- 
ers of  a  stupid  detective,  had  brought  about  a 
premature  explosion  of  the  train.  To  Indiman, 
apologetic  and  remorseful,  the  Countess  Gilda 
had  vouchsafed  a  single  pregnant  utterance — 
"  Wait  for  the  third  appearance  of  the  Queen  of 
Spades."  This  was  his  cue;  let  him  make  the 
most  of  it  if  he  would  repair  the  mischief  that 
he  had  unwittingly  done. 

Now  the  opera,  on  the  night  preceding  the 
Countess's  departure  for  Europe,  had  been 
Tschaikowsky's  "Queen  of  Spades";  the  in- 
ference was  inevitable  that  here  was  the  first 
materialization  of  our  mysterious  heroine. 
That  same  evening  we  had  encountered,  at  an 
Eighth  Avenue  ball,  a  masker  whose  costume 
had  been  designed  upon  the  familiar  model  of 
116 


The    Queen    otf   Spades 

the  court-card  in  question ;  so  much  for  number 
two.  But  Fortune  had  been  almost  too  kind, 
and  immediately  upon  this  promising  beginning 
she  had  withdrawn  her  smiles.  For  upward  of 
a  month  nothing  whatever  had  happened.  As 
I  have  said,  Indiman  played  solitaire  and  I 
smoked  as  much  as  I  could.  Dull  work  for  all 
that  it  was  the  end  of  April,  the  height  of  the 
Easter  season,  and  New  York  was  at  its  gayest. 
A  brilliant  show — yes,  and  the  same  old  one. 
Did  you  ever  eat  a  quail  a  day  for  thirty  days  ? 
Why  not  for  three  hundred  or  three  thousand 
days,  supposing  that  one  is  really  fond  of  quail? 

For  the  thirty -fifth  consecutive  time  the  soli- 
taire failed  to  come  out.  Indiman  gathered 
the  cards,  shuffled  them  with  infinite  precision, 
and  handed  them  to  me  to  cut.  I  did  so.  In- 
diman took  the  pack  and  flung  it  into  the  air; 
the  cards  fluttered  in  all  directions,  and  one 
came  sailing  straight  for  my  nose.  I  put  up 
my  hand  and  caught  it — it  was  the  Queen  of 
Spades. 

"  Here  is  the  lady  for  the  fateful  third  time," 
I  remarked,  jestingly.     But  Indiman  was  noth- 
ing if  not  serious.     He  took  the  card  from  me 
and  studied  it  attentively. 
117 


The    Gates   of    Chance 

"Rather  an  interesting  face,  don't  you 
think?"  he  said,  musingly.  "Somewhat  Se- 
mitic in  physiognomy,  you  notice;  that  comes 
from  the  almond-shaped  eyes  and  the  abnormal- 
ly high  arch  of  the  brows.  Would  you  know 
her  in  the  actual  flesh  —  say,  on  Broadway? 
Brunette,  of  course,  jet-black  hair  banded  k 
la  M6rode  over  the  ears,  a  little  droop  at  the 
corners  of  her  mouth.  Voila!  The  Queen  of 
Spades.  Let  us  go  out  and  look  for  her." 

"A  proposition,"  I  remarked,  judicially, 
"that  savors  of  the  rankest  lunacy.  And  yet, 
why  not?  The  lady  certainly  made  the  ad- 
vances; it  is  an  equivalent  to  an  invitation  to 
call.  Pity  she  doesn't  put  her  address  on  her 
card." 

"  Hym !"  coughed  Indiman,  delicately.  "  That 
is  a  difficulty.  But  not  necessarily  an  insur- 
mountable one.  Let  us  consult  the  street  di- 
rectory, with  minds  open  and  unprejudiced, 
and  our  faith  will  be  rewarded — doubt  it  not. 

"  We  will  pass  over  the  numbered  streets  and 
avenues,"  continued  Indiman.  "I  am  not  in 
the  mood  for  mathematical  subtleties,  although 
there  is  much  of  virtue  in  the  digit  9,  as  every 
adept  knows.  Names  are  our  quest  to-day,  so 
118 


The    Queen    of   Spades 

listen  to  them  as  they  run — Allen,  Bleecker, 
Bayard,  Dey,  Division — now  why  Division,  do 
you  suppose  ?  What  was  divided,  and  who  got 
the  lion's  share?" 

"A  delicate  allusion  to  some  eighteenth-cen- 
tury graft,"  I  suggested.  "Consult  the  anti- 
quaries." 

"  Oh,  it's  enough  for  our  purpose  that  the  di- 
vision itself  exists ;  it  must  lie  below  the '  barbed- 
wire  fence,'  somewhere  across  the  line.  To 
speak  precisely,  Division  Street  appears  to  start 
at  Chatham  Square,  and  it  runs  eastward  to 
Grand  Street.  We  will  take  the  Third  Avenue 
Elevated  to  Chatham  Square,  and  then  ask  a 
policeman.  Nothing  could  be  more  simple." 

Descending  the  Elevated  stairs,  Division 
Street  lay  right  before  our  eyes,  and  further  in- 
quiry was  superfluous.  Indiman's  spirits  had 
risen  amazingly.  "Why,  it's  only  an  elemen- 
tary exercise,"  he  said,  smilingly.  "Divide  an 
East  Side  street  by  a  pack  of  cards,  and  the 
quotient  is  the  Queen  of  Spades;  you  simply 
cannot  escape  from  the  conclusion.  Forward, 
then." 

Now,  Division  Street  is  something  out  of  the 
ordinary,  as  down-town  thoroughfares  go.  It 
119 


The    Gates   of    Chance 

is  the  principal  highway  to  that  remote  Yiddish 
country  whose  capital  is  William  H.  Seward 
Square,  and  the  entire  millinery  and  feminine 
tailoring  business  of  the  lower  East  Side  is  cen- 
tred at  this  its  upper  end.  In  the  one  short  block 
from  Chatham  Square  to  Market  Street  there  are 
twenty-seven  millinery  establishments — count 
them  for  yourself — and  with  one  exception  the 
other  shops  are  devoted  to  the  sale  of  cloaks  and 
mantuas  and  tailor-made  gowns.  All  on  the 
eastward  of  the  street,  you  notice.  There  is  a 
dollar  and  a  shilling  side  in  Division  Street,  just 
as  elsewhere. 

Talk  of  Bond  Street  and  Fifth  Avenue! 
Where  will  you  find  twenty-seven  millinery 
shops  in  an  almost  unbroken  row?  What  a 
multiplied  vista  of  delight  for  feminine  eyes — 
hats,  hats,  hats,  as  far  as  the  eye  can  reach. 
Black  hats  and  white  hats;  red,  blue,  and 
greenery-yallery  hats ;  weird  creations  so  loaded 
with  gimp  and  passementerie  as  to  certainly 
weigh  a  pound  or  more;  daring  confections  in 
gauze  and  feathers;  parterres  of  exotic  blooms 
such  as  no  earthly  garden  ever  held ;  hats  with 
bows  on  'em  and  hats  with  birds  on  'em,  and 
hats  with  beasts  on  'em ;  hats  that  twitter  and 
1 20 


The    Queen    otf    Spades 

hats  that  squawk ;  hats  of  lordly  velvet  and  hats 
of  plebeian  corduroy ;  felt  hats,  straw  hats,  chip 
hats;  wide  brim  and  narrow  brim;  skewered, 
beribboned,  bebowed — finally,  again,  just  hats, 
hats,  hats,  a  phantasmagoria  of  primary  colors 
and  gewgaws  and  fallalerie  pure  and  simple, 
before  which  the  masculine  brain  fairly  reels. 
But  the  woman  contemplates  the  show  with 
serenity  imperturbable:  the  hat  she  wants  is 
here  somewhere,  and  it  is  only  a  matter  of  time 
and  patience  to  find  it. 

There  is  always  a  Mont  Blanc  to  overtop  the 
lesser  Alpine  summits — a  Koh-i-noor  in  whose 
splendor  all  inferior  radiance  is  extinguished. 

Indiman  touched  my  elbow.  "  Look  at  that 
one,"  he  murmured. 

Now  that  was  a  hat.  To  describe  it — but  let 
me  first  bespeak  the  indulgence  of  my  feminine 
readers.  I  am  not  an  authority  upon  hats — 
most  distinctly  not;  and  I  shall  probably  dis- 
play my  ignorance  with  the  first  word  out  of 
my  mouth.  But  what  matter.  I  am  simply 
trying  to  tell  of  what  these  poor  mortal  eyes 
have  seen. 

In  effect,  then,  the  foundation  of  the  hat  ap- 
peared to  be  a  black  straw,  with  a  wide,  straight 

J2J 


The    Gates    of   Chance 

brim,  the  trimming  being  a  gimcrackery  sort  of 
material  whose  name  for  the  moment  has  es- 
caped me.  Suppose  we  call  it  barbge,  and  let 
it  go  at  that?  The  principal  ornament  was  a 
large,  red  apple  in  wax,  pierced  by  a  German- 
silver  arrow,  but  the  really  unique  feature  of 
the  entire  creation  was  the  parasol-like  fringe 
that  depended  from  the  edge  of  the  brim,  a 
continuous  row  of  four-inch  filaments  upon 
which  shining  black  beads  were  closely  strung. 
An  over-bold  device,  perhaps,  but  it  certainly 
caught  the  eye ;  there  was  a  barbaric  suggestion 
in  those  strings  of  glittering  beads  that  made 
one  think  of  the  Congo  and  of  tomtoms  beating 
brazenly  in  the  moonlight.  A  hat  that  was  a 
hat,  as  I  have  previously  remarked,  and  Indi- 
man  and  I  gazed  upon  it  with  undisguised  in- 
terest. It  is  hardly  necessary  to  add  that  this 
particular  hat  had  the  place  of  honor  in  the 
shop-window,  it  being  mounted  upon  the  waxen 
model  of  a  simpering  lady  with  flaxen  curls  and 
a  complexion  incomparable.  Assuredly,  then, 
the  pearl  of  the  collection. 

"L.  Hernandez,"  said  Indiman,  reading  the 
sign  over  the  door.  "Spanish  Jew,  I  should 
say.  Yes,  and  the  Queen  of  Spades  in  person," 

122 


The   Queen   of   Spades 

he  added,  in  an  undertone,  for  L.  Hernandez 
was  standing  in  the  open  door-way  of  the  shop 
and  regarding  us  with  a  curious  fixity  of  glance. 

Now,  through  the  summer-time  it  is  the  cus- 
tom of  the  Division  Street  modistes  to  occupy 
seats  placed  on  the  sidewalk.  In  a  business 
where  competition  is  so  strenuous  one  must  be 
prepared  to  catch  the  customer  on  the  hop. 
Even  in  winter  the  larger  establishments  will 
keep  a  scout  on  duty  outside,  and  the  lesser 
proprietor  must,  at  least,  cast  an  occasional  eye 
to  windward,  if  the  balance  of  trade  is  to  be 
preserved.  Undoubtedly  Madame  Hernandez 
was  taking  a  purely  business  observation,  and 
we  had  chanced  to  fall  within  its  focus. 

The  resemblance  was,  indeed,  striking.  There 
was  the  banded  hair  over  the  eyes,  the  slightly 
drooping  mouth,  the  peculiar  upspring  of  the 
eyebrow  arch — the  Queen  of  Spades  in  person, 
as  Indiman  had  said.  And  this  was  her  third 
appearance. 

Indiman  removed  his  hat  with  a  sweep. 
" Madame,"  he  said,  with  elaborate  civility,  "it 
is  a  beautiful  day." 

"What  of  it?"  retorted  L.  Hernandez,  un- 
graciously enough.  "Or  perhaps  the  sun  isn't 
123 


The   Gates   of   Chance 

shining  above  Madison  Square,"  she  added, 
sarcastically.  A  strange  voice  this,  raucous 
in  quality  and  abnormally  low  in  pitch. 

"I  haven't  noticed,"  said  Indiman,  with 
undisturbed  good-humor.  "Alike  upon 'the 
just  and  unjust,  you  know.  Now  if  you  will 
kindly  allow  me  to  pass — " 

"What  do  you  want  in  my  shop?" 

"I  desire  to  purchase  that  hat,"  replied  In- 
diman, and  pointed  to  the  atrocity  in  the  win- 
dow. 

"  It  is  not  for  sale." 

"I  am  prepared  to  pay  liberally  for  what 
strikes  my  fancy."  He  took  out  a  roll  of 
bills. 

"The  hat  is  not  for  sale." 

"Madame,"  said  Indiman,  with  the  utmost 
suavity,  "  are  you  in  business  for  your  health?" 

"I  am." 

"Oh,  in  that  case—" 

"You  may  come  inside;  it  tires  me  to  be  on 
my  feet  for  so  long.  To  my  sorrow  I  grow 
stout." 

"It  is  an  affliction,"  murmured  Indiman, 
sympathetically.  We  followed  her  within. 

The  shop  was  crammed  from  floor  to  ceiling 
124 


The    Queen    of   Spades 

with  bandboxes  arranged  in  three  or  four  rows, 
and  glazed  presses,  filled  with  feminine  hats 
and  bonnets,  lined  the  walls.  Near  the  window 
was  a  small  counter,  behind  which  Madame  L. 
Hernandez  immediately  installed  herself,  and 
from  this  vantage-point  she  proceeded  to  in- 
spect us  with  cool  deliberation,  fanning  herself 
the  while  with  a  huge  palm-leaf.  "You  wish 
to  buy  a  hat?"  she  said,  tentatively. 

"That  one,"  answered  Indiman,  stubbornly 
" — that  hat  on  the  model's  head." 

"Bah!  Senor,  it  is  fatiguing  to  fight,  like 
children,  with  pillows  in  the  dark.  You  want 
that  Russian  letter.  Why  not  say  so?" 

For  a  full  half-minute  their  eyes  met  in 
silent  thrust  and  parry ;  it  was  to  be  a  duel, 
then,  and  each  was  an  antagonist  to  be  re- 
spected. 

"  If  it  is  a  question  of  money — "  said  Indiman, 
slowly. 

"  It  is  not." 

"Then  I  must  take  it  where  I  find  it." 

"So  it  appears,"  answered  L.  Hernandez, 
placidly.  "  But  you  must  first  find  it.  Eh, 
my  bold  young  man?" 

"  Be  tranquil,  madame — " 
"5 


The    Gates    of   Chance 

"  I  am  tranquil.  You  are  but  wasting  your 
time." 

"I  have  it  to  spend  in  unlimited  quantity. 
I  am  a  solitaire-player." 

"Oh,  you  play  solitaire.  How  many  varia- 
tions do  you  know?" 

"  One  hundred  and  thirty -five." 

"  I  can  count  one  hundred  and  forty-two." 

" Including  the  ' Bridge' ?" 

"The  famous  'Bridge'!  Do  you  know  it, 
then?" 

"I  learned  it  from  a  Polish  gentleman  in 
Belgrade." 

"  It  is  difficult." 

"  Enormously  so.  It  may  come  out  once  in 
a  hundred  times." 

Madame  L.  Hernandez  produced  a  pack  of 
cards  from  underneath  the  counter.  "  Will  you 
oblige  me,  sefior?  I  am  anxious  to  see  the 
play." 

Indiman  proceeded  with  the  explanation. 
It  was  too  intricate  for  me  to  follow.  I  could 
only  understand  that,  with  the  solitaire  pro- 
perly resolved,  the  cards  should  finally  divide 
themselves  into  four  packs,  headed  respectively 
by  the  ace  of  clubs,  king  of  diamonds,  queen  of 
126 


The    Queen    of    Spades 

spades,  and  knave  of  hearts.  Indiman  tried  it 
twice,  but  the  combination  would  not  come  out. 

"We  will  try  it  again  to-morrow,"  said  Indi- 
man, rising. 

"  With  pleasure.  Good  -  day,  gentlemen. 
Mind  the  step." 

As  we  walked  towards  Chatham  Square  a 
stout  man  joined  us,  a  man  with  one  ear  no- 
ticeably larger  than  the  other.  "Mr.  Indi- 
man— "  he  began,  deferentially. 

"What,  you,  Brownson?" 

"Yes,  sir.  I  have  an  assignment  on  this  job 
from  the  Central  Office.  I  saw  you  coming  out 
of  L.  Hernandez's  just  now.  Smooth  old  bird, 
ain't  it?" 

"You  on  this  case?"  said  Indiman,  stupe- 
fied. 

"Yes,  sir.  You  see,  the  parties  concerned 
finally  determined  to  put  it  into  our  hands,  and 
they'd  have  been  enough  sight'  better  off  if 
they'd  done  it  in  the  beginning.  Bless  you! 
it's  no  great  shakes  of  a  lay-out.  There's  the 
letter — a  single  sheet  of  note-paper  written  in 
violet  ink  on  one  side  only,  and  we  know  the 
party  who  has  it  up  her  sleeve.  L.  Hernandez 
— I  don't  mind  saying  it,  seeing  that  you're 
127 


The    Gates   of   Chance 

also  on.  I'll  do  the  trick  within  three  days,  or 
you  can  boil  my  head  for  a  corned-beef  din- 
ner." 

"Well,  good  luck  to  you,  Brownson,"  said 
Indiman,  absently.  There  was  a  cab -.rank 
here  in  Chatham  Square,  and  we  drove  up- 
town to  the  Utinam  Club  for  a  late  luncheon. 
While  we  were  waiting  for  our  filet  to  be  pre- 
pared Indiman  wrote  a  brief  note  and  had  it 
despatched  by  messenger;  it  was  addressed, 
as  he  showed  me,  to  Madame  L.  Hernandez, 

Division  Street.     "I'm  not  going  to  have 

that  booby  upset  the  apple-cart  for  a  second 
time,"  he  said,  savagely.  "  Now  we  shall  have 
to  wait  for  at  least  three  days." 

This  was  on  Monday ;  on  Friday  we  presented 
ourselves  again  to  Madame  L.  Hernandez.  She 
received  us  politely,  almost  graciously ;  she  sat 
in  the  great  chair  behind  the  counter,  engaged 
in  the  truly  feminine  occupation  of  putting  up 
her  hair  in  curl-papers.  A  pad  of  stiff,  white 
writing-paper  lay  on  the  counter  before  her,  and 
from  it  she  tore  the  strips  as  she  needed  them. 

"I  am  tired  of  these  bandeaux,"   she  ex- 
plained, smilingly.     "My  friends  tell  me  that 
curls  will  become  me  infinitely  better." 
128 


"The    Queen    of    Spades" 

"Your  friends  have  reason,"  acquiesced  In- 
diman;  "but  tell  me,  madame,  did  you  receive 
my  note?" 

"I  did,  senor,  and  I  return  you  a  thousand 
thanks.  Ah,  how  these  pigs  of  detectives  have 
tortured  me!  —  you  would  never  believe  it. 
Twice  my  apartments,  at  the  back  there,  have 
been  entered  and  ransacked  from  end  to  end; 
I  even  suffered  the  indignity  of  being  person- 
ally searched  by  a  dreadful  newspaper  woman 
who  had  answered  my  advertisement  for '  Im- 
provers Wanted. '  Chloroformed  in  broad  day- 
light in  my  own  house!" 

"But  they  didn't  get  the  letter?" 

"  I  was  not  born  yesterday,  senor." 

"Good!"  said  Indiman,  heartily.  "What 
imbeciles  policemen  can  be!" 

"What,  indeed!  Behold,  senor,  I  show  you 
the  ruin  wrought  by  these  swine.  This  way." 

L.  Hernandez  rose,  waddled  stiffly  to  the 
back  room,  and  threw  open  the  door.  ' '  There !' ' 
she  exclaimed,  dramatically. 

Evidently  these  were  the  lady's  living  apart- 
ments— a  bed-chamber  and  a  smaller  room  at 
the  left,  in  which  were  a  gas-range  and  some 
smaller  culinary  apparatus.  It  was  plain  that 

9  129 


The    Gates   of   Chance 

the  intruders  had  made  thorough  work  in  their 
search.  The  carpet  had  been  removed  and  the 
flooring  partially  torn  up;  the  walls  had  been 
sounded  for  secret  receptacles,  the  pictures 
stripped  of  their  backing,  and  the  chairs  and 
bedstead  pulled  half  to  pieces.  "  Not  a  square 
inch  of  anything  have  they  left  unprobed  by 
their  accursed  needles,"  said  L.  Hernandez, 
furiously.  "  It  will  take  me  a  month,  stiff  as  I 
am,  to  get  things  to  rights." 

"An  outrage!"  said  Indiman,  soothingly. 
"  Shall  we  have  a  try  at  crossing  the  '  Bridge '  ?" 
And  forthwith  they  sat  down  to  the  great  soli- 
taire with  the  utmost  amity.  But  again  it  did 
not  come  out;  the  combinations  were  insolu- 
ble. 

The  next  day  we  paid  another  visit  to  L.  Her- 
nandez. 

"The  curl-papers  do  not  seem  to  be  very  ef- 
fective," remarked  Indiman,  glancing  at  the 
familiar  smooth  bands  of  hair  drawn  straight 
down  from  the  forehead  and  over  the  ears. 

"Ah,    these    wretched    bandeaux!"    sighed 

madame;  "they  are  intractable.     I  shall  have 

to  wear  my  curl-papers  by  day  as  well  as  by 

night.     Excuse  me,  gentlemen,  for  a  few  min- 

130 


"The  Queen  of  Spades" 

utes,"  and  she  disappeared  into  the  back  room, 
to  shortly  reappear  with  the  rebellious  bands 
tightly  swathed  in  a  dozen  little  rolls  of  twisted 
paper.  "Again  the  impassable  'Bridge,'"  she 
said,  gayly,  and  the  pair  wrestled  half  a  dozen 
times  with  the  problem — of  course,  unsuccess- 
fully. 

On  the  following  day  the  comedy  was  re- 
peated. 

"  Madame,"  said  Indiman,  gravely, "  you  have 
again  forgotten  your  curl-papers." 

"Senor,  my  memory  is  undoubtedly  failing; 
I  go  to  repair  the  omission."  Re-enter  madame 
in  curl-papers,  and  then  the  "Bridge"  as  be- 
fore; da  capo  for  a  week  on  end. 

"It  seems  impossible  to  get  that  accursed 
combination,"  said  Indiman,  and  he  threw 
down  the  cards.  Madame  L.  Hernandez 
smiled,  and  there  was  a  little  silence. 

"  Madame,"  said  Indiman. 

"Senor." 

"You  are  not  treating  me  fairly.  You 
have  allowed  those  stupid  detectives  to  search 
your  apartments,  and  I  demand  an  equal  priv- 
ilege." 


The    Gates   of    Chance 

"You  shall  have  it,  senor.  I  am  going  to 
make  a  complaint  of  the  affair  at  Police  Head- 
quarters. Perhaps  Sefior  Thorp  will  kindly  ac- 
company me?" 

"Excellent!  I  will  remain  here,  and  if  the 
letter  is  within  these  four  walls  I  shall  find  it." 

"My  best  wishes,  senor." 

I  called  a  coach.  Madame  arrayed  herself  in 
a  fur  cloak  and  crowned  herself,  curl-papers  and 
all,  with  that  atrocious  hat  from  the  window 
stock,  a  grotesque  figure  of  a  woman  in  all  con- 
science. But  I  had  nerved  myself  for  the  ordeal, 
and  we  drove  away  amid  the  jeers  and  laughter 
of  the  street  crowd.  In  an  hour  we  returned. 
Indiman  was  placidly  smoking  and  working  on 
his  solitaire. 

"You  were  successful,  senor?" 

"  No,  but  I  have  hopes." 

"Ah!  Well,  good-day,  gentlemen.  Come 
again." 

"  Of  course  there  was  nothing,"  said  Indiman 
to  me  as  we  drove  home.  "  I  even  went  through 
every  bandbox." 

"Yet  you  have  hopes?" 

"Yes." 

It  was  the  second  day  following,  and  we  were 
132 


"The  Queen  of  Spades" 

calling  again  upon  L.  Hernandez.  There  was 
the  usual  badinage  about  the  curl-papers,  and 
madame  retired  to  her  private  apartments, 
carefully  closing  the  door  behind  her. 

"Now!"  said  Indiman.  Hastily  he  pulled 
forward  a  cheval-glass,  placing  it  upon  a  par- 
ticular spot  and  tilting  the  mirror  to  a  certain 
exact  angle.  When  finally  it  was  adjusted  to 
his  satisfaction,  he  motioned  to  me  to  come  and 
look.  In  the  mirror  was  plainly  visible  a  ver- 
tically reversed  reflection  of  L.  Hernandez. 
Standing  in  front  of  a  long  dressing-glass  in  her 
bedroom,  she  deliberately  removed  her  chevelure 
in  its  entirety  and  tossed  it  on  the  table.  It 
was  a  wig,  then ;  but  I  was  hardly  prepared  for 
the  secret  that  it  had  concealed — for  the  close- 
cropped  head,  with  its  straw-colored  hair,  was 
unmistakably  that  of  a  man. 

"Look!  look!"  whispered  Indiman. 

From  a  drawer  L.  Hernandez  had  taken  a 
second  wig  already  furnished  with  curl-papers; 
the  adjustment  took  but  a  minute  or  two;  the 
door  opened,  and  she  reappeared,  ready  for  the 
inevitable  solitaire. 

On  the  way  home  that  night  Indiman  stopped 
at  Police  Headquarters,  but  he  did  not  see  fit 


The   Gates   of    Chance 

to  make  the  nature  of  his  inquiries  known  to 
me.  On  the  subject  of  the  apparition  in  the 
mirror,  however,  he  was  more  communica- 
tive. 

"As  you  know,"  he  said,  "the  partition  that 
divides  madame's  private  apartments  from  the 
shop  does  not  extend  to  the  ceiling ;  there  is  a 
gap  of  some  three  feet.  I  had  previously  no- 
ticed the  cheval-glass  in  the  bedroom ;  it  was  a 
natural  presumption  that  L.  Hernandez  would 
take  her  stand  in  front  of  it  while  engaged  in 
making  her  toilet.  Now  this  glass  is  tilted 
at  a  sharp  angle,  and  consequently  the  reflec- 
tion must  be  projected  upward  to  a  particular 
point  on  the  ceiling.  Supposing  a  small  look- 
ing-glass to  be  fixed  at  this  point,  the  rays  im- 
pinging upon  it  will  be  cast  downward  and  on 
our  side  of  the  partition,  for  the  angle  of  reflec- 
tion is  always  equal  to  that  of  incidence.  We 
have,  therefore,  only  to  place  in  position  a  sec- 
ond cheval-glass,  arranged  at  the  proper  incli- 
nation, to  obtain  a  reproduction  of  the  original 
image,  although,  of  course,  it  will  appear  to  us 
as  upside-down.  I  have  only  to  add  that  the 
day  you  escorted  madame  to  Police  Head- 
quarters I  took  the  opportunity  to  fasten  a 
134 


"The    Queen    of  Spades" 

small  mirror  on  the  ceiling,  trusting  that  it 
would  not  be  noticed.  Nor  was  it;  the  trap 
worked  perfectly  —  an  optical  siphon,  as  it 
may  be  called — and  the  secret  was  mine." 

"And  now?" 

"Wait  until  to-morrow,"  said  Indiman. 

For  the  fiftieth  time  the  game  of  solitaire  was 
in  progress,  and  on  this  occasion  it  seemed  as 
though  the  combinations  were  actually  coming 
out.  Remember,  that  in  the  final  fall  of  the 
cards  it  was  necessary  that  they  should  be  in 
four  packs,  headed  by  the  ace  of  clubs,  king 
of  diamonds,  queen  of  spades,  and  knave  of 
hearts.  Already  the  first  two  ranks  had  been 
completed ;  it  all  depended  upon  the  disposition 
of  the  few  remaining  cards. 

"The  queen  of  spades  is  buried,"  said  L. 
Hernandez,  with  a  sneer.  "You  have  failed 
again." 

"I  think  not,"  replied  Indiman,  calmly.  "I 
am  sure  that  the  last  card  is  the  knave  of 
hearts."  This  was  my  cue.  I  stepped  to  the 
door  and  made  an  imperceptible  signal  to 
Brownson,  who,  with  two  other  plain-clothes 
men,  was  lounging  in  a  door -way  across  the 


The   Gates    of    Chance 

street.  They  seemed  eternally  slow  in  obeying ; 
I  felt  the  muscles  in  my  throat  contracting 
with  nervous  excitement  as  I  turned  again  to 
watch  the  solitaire.  ,%. 

But  two  cards  remained  to  be  played;  they 
lay  face  downward  upon  the  table.  If  the  upper 
one  were  the  queen  of  spades,  the  packets  would 
be  completed  in  their  proper  order  and  the 
solitaire  would  be  made ;  if  it  were  the  knave  of 
hearts,  the  game  would  again  be  lost.  Slowly — 
oh,  so  slowly — Indiman  turned  the  first  card. 

"Knave!"  shouted  L.  Hernandez,  exultingly. 
Then  she  stopped  and  went  white.  It  was  not 
the  knave  of  hearts,  but  the  queen  of  spades, 
and  over  it  had  been  pasted  a  small  carte-de- 
visite  photograph — that  of  a  man  dressed  in 
the  coarse  uniform  of  one  of  the  Russian  penal 
settlements.  With  lightning  swiftness  Indi- 
man leaned  forward  and  twitched  the  wig  from 
L.  Hernandez's  head ;  the  man  himself  sat  there 
before  our  eyes. 

Brownson  and  his  bull-dogs  stood  at  the  <k>or, 
revolvers  in  hand.  But  there  was  no  need. 
The  squat,  ungainly  figure  had  fallen  forward 
upon  the  counter,  crushing  the  horrible  night- 
mare of  a  hat  of  which  I  have  so  often  spoken, 
136 


The    Queen   of    Spades 

and  which,  quite  by  chance,  as  it  seemed,  had 
been  lying  there.  Brownson  sprang  forward 
and  raised  the  limp  body.  The  red,  waxen 
apple  had  been  broken  into  a  dozen  pieces. 
Among  them  lay  the  fragments  of  a  fragile  glass 
phial,  and  the  smell  of  almonds  was  in  the  air. 

"  Prussic  acid,"  said  Brownson,  sententiously. 
"He  wasn't  the  kind  to  be  taken  alive." 

Indiman  mechanically  turned  over  the  last 
card;  it  was  the  knave  of  hearts,  and  the  fa- 
mous solitaire  of  the  "Bridge"  had  been  made 
at  last.  He  slipped  the  cards  into  his  pocket 
and  rose  to  go.  "  Brownson,"  he  said,  with  a 
little  catch  in  his  voice,  "  I  didn't  think  that  it 
would  come  to  this,  but  it  had  to  be,  I  suppose. 
Have  him  put  away  decently,  and  send  the  ac- 
count to  me." 

"Very  good,  sir.  But  ain't  it  a  pity  about 
that  letter.  However,  we  can  take  a  good  look 
now,  and  maybe  we'll  turn  it  up  yet." 

"  Perhaps  so,"  said  Indiman. 

"His  real  name  was  Gribedyoff,  and  he  was 

implicated  in  the  assassination  of  Prince  Tra- 

pasky,"  said  Indiman  to  me  as  we  sat  over  our 

cigars  that  night.     "A  desperate  fellow,  one  of 

137 


The    Gates   of   Chance 

the  'Blacks,'  you  know.  I  picked  his  picture 
out  in  a  moment  at  Police  Headquarters,  after 
seeing  his  reflection  in  the  mirror.  I  knew  it 
was  necessary  to  surprise  him,  and  so  I  bor- 
rowed the  photograph  and  used  it  to  transmog- 
rify the  queen  of  spades  card.  Just  for  an 
instant  he  lost  his  nerve,  but  that  was 
enough." 

"  But,  as  Brownson  said,  how  about  the  let- 
ter?" 

Indiman  drew  from  his  pocket  the  wig,  to 
which  the  curl-papers  were  still  attached. 

He  unrolled  one  and  showed  it  to  me.  I 
could  see  that  the  strip  was  written  in  French 
on  one  side  of  the  paper  and  in  violet  ink.  "  It 
will  be  easy  enough  to  piece  it  together  again," 
he  said.  "  Plain  enough  now,  isn't  it,  why  L. 
Hernandez  cared  not  at  all  how  often  Brown- 
son's  men  rummaged  table-drawers  and  chair- 
seats.  The  letter  was  safe  until  the  time  should 
come  to  use  it.  Only  it  never  came." 

"I  suppose  you  are  going  abroad?" 

"I  shall  sail  Thursday." 

"And  you  will  be  gone  how  long?" 

"That  depends,  doesn't  it,  upon  the  pleasure 
of  that  most  gracious  lady  the  Countess  Gilda. 

138 


The    Queen    of    Spades 

I  may  be  back  in  a  fortnight,  and  in  that  case  I 
will  make  an  engagement  with  you.     We  will 
take  a  ride  together  on  a  trolley-car." 
"Agreed,"  said  I. 

It  was  a  warm  afternoon  in  the  middle  of 
May,  and  I  was  lounging  in  the  deserted  com- 
mon room  of  the  Utinam  Club  when  Esper  In- 
diman  walked  in.  We  shook  hands. 

"You  landed  to-day?"  I  asked. 

"Yes,  by  the  Deutschland." 

It  was  impossible  for  me  to  utter  the  inquiry 
that  rose  to  my  lips.  Indiman  hesitated  just 
a  trifle,  then  he  went  on : 

"  I  delivered  my  letter  to  the  Countess,  and 
she  was  most  obliged.  She  asked  me  to  stay 
on,  but  I  had  a  previous  engagement  to  plead : 
you  remember  that  I  had  agreed  to  go  on  a 
trolley -ride  on  or  about  this  date?" 

"I  remember,"  I  answered.  "Let  us  inter- 
view Oscar,  then,  upon  the  subject  of  dinner;  it 
will  be  cooler  up  at  Thirty-fourth  Street.  Af- 
terwards we  will  have  our  adventure  on  the 
trolley." 

Well,  we  went  and  had  our  dinner,  but,  as 
you  shall  see,  the  trolley-ride  had  to  be  indefi- 
139 


The    Gates    of    Chance 

nitely  postponed.  We  had  started  down  Fifth 
Avenue,  and  near  Madison  Square  we  ran 
squarely  into  Indiman's  cousin,  George  Estes. 
He  was  standing  near  a  brilliantly  illumined 
shop-window,  and  gazing  intently  at  a  small 
object  that  lay  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand. 

"Oh,  it's  you,"  he  said,  absently.  Then, 
with  a  little  laugh,  "  What  do  you  think  of  this?" 
He  held  out  to  us  a  small  button  fashioned  of 
some  semiprecious  stone  like  Mexican  opal;  it 
glowed  with  an  elusive  reddish  lustre. 

"It  looks  almost  alive,"  commented  Indi- 
man. 

"The  vital  spark,  eh?  Well,  you're  not  so 
far  out,  for  it  means  a  man's  life." 

"  What  is  it,  George?"  asked  Indiman,  gravely. 

"  Not  to-night,  old  chap.  It  may  be  a  mis- 
take— probably  is.  Or  say  tnat  I  was  kidding 
you." 

"That  won't  do,  George.  You've  said  both 
too  much  and  too  little.  Cab  there!"  he  called, 
and  a  hansom  drew  up  to  the  curb. 

"You'll  excuse  me,  Thorp — a  family  affair." 
He  motioned  to  the  boy  to  enter;  he  obeyed, 
sulkily  enough,  and  they  drove  off. 
140 


VII 


The   Opal   Button 

OW,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  I  had  no 
part  in  the  affair  of  the  opal  button ; 
for  on  the  very  next  day  following 
our  meeting  with  Estes  I  came  down 
with  typhoid  and  spent  the  next  two 
months  in  the  hospital.  I  saw  little 
of  Indiman  during  that  time,  but  his  seeming 
neglect  was  fully  explained  by  the  story  he  told 
me  the  night  I  was  well  enough  to  get  back 
to  4020  Madison  Avenue. 

"You  remember,  of  course,"  began  Indiman, 
"  that  I  went  off  with  Estes  that  May  evening 
with  just  an  apology  to  you  about  a  family 
affair.  Really,  I  knew  nothing;  but  the  boy's 
manner  struck  me  as  peculiar,  and,  while  the 
incident  of  the  opal  button  was  trifling  in  itself, 
I  was  sure  that  there  was  something  behind  it. 
141 


The    Gates   of   Chance 

But  when  I  plumped  the  question  squarely  at 
Estes  he  had  nothing  to  say  except  that  the 
jewel  had  been  slipped  into  his  hand  while  he 
stood  looking  into  a  shop-window.  Where  it 
came  from  he  did  not  know;  what  it  meant  he 
either  could  not  or  would  not  tell.  So  I  had 
to  drop  the  subject  for  the  time.  But  it  came 
up  again  of  its  own  accord  four  days  later,  the 
exact  date  being  May  isth.  So  much  by  way 
of  preamble ;  the  story  proper  I  will  read  from 
my  notes. 

"'De  Quincey  was  right,  and  murder  should 
be  a  fine  art.  But  the  Borgias — only  amateurs ! 
The  far-famed  Aqua  T  of  ana — pooh !  Any  chem- 
ist will  put  it  up  for  ten  cents.  Only  be  careful 
how  you  use  it.  Chemical  analysis  has  ad- 
vanced somewhat  since  the  day  of  the  divine 
Lucrezia,  and  a  jury  would  convict  without 
leaving  their  seats.' 

"'Rather  rough  on  your  business,  I  should 
think,'  said  Estes,  speaking  somewhat  thickly, 
for  the  port  had  stopped  with  him  overfre- 
quently  of  late.  'Is  poisoning  really  out  of 
date?'  he  continued. 

" '  As  absolutely  as  crinoline  and  the  novels 
142 


The    Opal    Button 

of  G.  P.  R.  James/  answered  our  host,  lightly. 
But  I,  who  was  watching  him  closely,  saw  his 
eyes  harden.  Estes  had  said  more  than  one 
imprudent  thing  that  evening,  and  this  time  he 
had  gone  too  far.  I  would  have  to  get  the  boy 
away  somehow. 

"There  were  three  of  us  dining  with  Balen- 
court  that  evening  at  his  chambers  in  the  Ar- 
gyle  —  Estes,  Crawfurd,  and  myself ;  and  as 
usual  we  had  had  an  excellent  dinner,  for  Balen- 
court  knew  how  to  live.  Who  was  Balencourt? 
Well,  nobody  could  answer  that  precisely,  but 
his  letters  of  introduction  had  been  unexcep- 
tionable and  his  checks  were  always  honored 
at  Brown  Brothers.  Moreover,  Crawfurd  had 
met  him  frequently  at  the  Jockey  Club  in  Paris, 
and  there  was  his  name  on  White's  books  for 
any  one  to  read.  A  man  of  forty-five  per- 
haps, clean-shaven,  well  set  up,  an  invet- 
erate globe-trotter,  a  prince  among  racon- 
teurs, and  the  most  astounding  polyglot  I 
have  ever  met.  I  myself  have  heard  him  talk 
Eskimo  with  one  of  Peary's  natives,  and  he 
had  collated  some  of  his  researches  into 
Iranic-Turanian  root-forms  for  the  Philological 
Society.  But  let  us  go  back  to  our  walnuts. 


The   Gates   of   Chance 

"  Crawfurd  picked  up  the  thread.  '  Then  the 
science  of  assassination  is  a  lost  art,'  he  said, 
tentatively. 

" '  Oh,  I  did  not  say  that,'  replied  Balencourt, 
carelessly.  'There  are  other  ways  —  better 
ones.' 

"  'You  mean  beyond  the  risk  of  detection?' 

" '  Perfectly.' 

"  '  Eliminating  the  toxic  poisons  of  all  kinds?' 

"  'If  you  like.' 

"'I  doubt  it,'  said  Crawfurd,  with  a  little 
hesitation. 

'"And  I  deny  it,'  interrupted  Estes,  rudely, 
and  stared  straight  at  Balencourt.  A  quick 
glance  answered  his  challenge;  it  was  like  the 
engaging  of  rapiers. 

'"Perhaps  Mr.  Estes  desires  proof,'  said 
Balencourt,  slowly. 

"  '  I  do.' 

"  '  Let  us  say  between — ' 

'"To-night  and  the  ist  of  August.' 

"  '  That  will  suit  me  perfectly.  My  passage 
is  booked  on  the  Teutonic  for  the  following 
Wednesday.' 

'"It  is  also  the  day  set  for  my  wedding  to 
Miss  Catherwood,'  said  Estes,  quietly. 
144 


The  Opal   Button 

"Balencourt  took  it  admirably.  'So  you 
have  obtained  the  decision  at  last,'  he  said, 
smiling  lightly.  'My  felicitations.' 

"  Crawfurd  rose  to  his  feet.  The  jovial  flush 
had  strained  away  from  his  fat  cheeks,  and  his 
jaw  hung  loose  and  pendulous.  'For  God's 
sake,  fellows — '  he  began,  but  Balencourt  stop- 
ped him  with  a  gesture. 

" '  This  is  a  private  matter  between  Mr.  Estes 
and  myself,  as  he  knows  full  well.  So  far  as 
you  and  Mr.  Indiman  are  concerned,  call  it 
what  you  like — a  duel,  or,  better  yet,  a  sporting 
proposition.' 

'"The  stakes?'  put  in  Crawfurd,  feebly,  for, 
shaken  as  he  was,  he  could  still  grasp  at  the 
definite  idea  included  in  the  last-named  alter- 
native. Sport  and  a  wager  —  now  he  under- 
stood. 

' ' '  The  stakes  ?'  repeated  Balencourt.  '  Well, 
they  are  hardly  of  a  nature  that  either  Mr. 
Estes  or  myself  can  intrust  them  to  the  keeping 
of  a  third  party.  But  rest  assured  that  the 
loser  will  pay;  it  is  a  debt  of  honor.' 

"  Up  to  this  moment  I  had  kept  silence,  but 
now  I  must  make  my  one  try.  '  He  is  but  a 
boy,'  I  said,  leaning  my  elbows  on  the  table 
145 


The   Gates   of   Chance 

and  seeking  to  plumb  the  soul-depths  in  the 
cold,  gray  eyes  of  the  man  who  sat  opposite  to 
me.  But  Balencourt  only  laughed  amusedly. 

'"Then  he  should  not  assume  a  man's — ' 

"'Will  you  come  now,  Cousin  Esper?'  inter- 
rupted Estes.  He  pushed  his  chair  noisily 
back,  and  we  all  rose. 

"  'You  won't  wait  for  coffee?'  said  our  host. 
'Just  as  you  please.'  He  touched  the  call- 
button,  and  Jarman  entered  to  help  us  on  with 
our  top-coats.  Par  paren these,  how  account  for 
the  anomaly  of  this  scoundrel  of  a  Balencourt 
possessing  the  most  perfect  of  serving -men? 
There  never  was  anybody  who  could  roll  an 
umbrella  like  Jarman,  and  I  have  been  around 
a  lot  in  my  time.  After  the  catastrophe  I  tried 
my  best  to  locate  him,  but  without  success. 
He  was  gone ;  the  pearl  had  dropped  back  into 
the  unfathomable  depths  of  ocean.  Perhaps 
he  followed  his  master. 

"  The  door  closed  behind  us,  and  we  three 
stood  in  the  street.  'A  cab?'  I  queried,  and  a 
passing  hansom  swung  in  towards  the  curb. 

'"I'd  rather  walk  along  with  you,  Cousin 
Esper,'  said  Estes.     'Jump  in,  Mr.  Crawfurd, 
and  we'll  pick  you  up  later  at  the  club.' 
146 


The    Opal    Button 

"  Crawfurd  nodded  and  was  forthwith  driven 
away.  I  turned  to  Estes. 

'"What  is  it,  George?'  I  asked.  'Remem- 
ber, there's  Elizabeth  to  be  considered  in 
this.' 

"  Now,  while  Estes  is  a  second  cousin  of  mine, 
'  Betty '  Catherwood  is  my  niece,  and  so  I  con- 
sidered that  I  had  a  double  right  to  stick  in  my 
oar.  But  I  wasn't  prepared  for  the  depth  of 
trouble  that  I  encountered  in  the  glance  George 
Estes  turned  on  me.  '  So  bad  as  that !'  I  fin- 
ished, lamely. 

" '  It  won't  take  long  in  the  telling,'  began  the 
boy,  desperately.  'You  remember  that  after 
I  left  Princeton  I  went  to  Germany  for  a  two 
years'  course  in  international  law  under  Lan- 
glotz;  it  was  a  pet  idea  of  the  pater's.' 

"  I  nodded. 

"  '  Well,  we  all  make  fools  of  ourselves  at  one 
time  or  another,  and  here  is  where  I  donned  the 
cap  and  bells.  You  have  heard'  —  here  he 
lowered  his  voice — 'of  the  "Dawn."' 

"'The  revolutionary  society?' 

"'Yes;  it's  the  active  branch  of  the  "  Sunrise 
League" — the  practical  work,  you  know.  I 
joined  it.' 

147 


The    Gates   of   Chance 

"  I  had  nothing  to  say.  George  laughed  a 
little  dismally  and  went  on : 

" '  Absurd,  wasn't  it?  I,  a  citizen  of  the  best 
and  freest  country  on  earth  to  be  making 
common  cause  with  a  lot  of  crack-brained 
theorists  who  would  replace  constitutional 
government  by  the  "Lion's  Mouth"  and  the 
"Council  of  Ten" — a  world  ruled  by  a  secret 
terror.  But  it  seemed  all  right  at  the  time. 
What  was  my  life  or  any  one  man's  life  to 
the  progress  of  civilization?  It  was  only  when 
I  came  to  look  at  the  means  apart  from  the 
end  that  I  realized  the  horrible  fallacy  of  it 
all.' 

"  'You  withdrew,  of  course.' 

"  '  You  don't  quite  understand.  One  doesn't 
withdraw  from  the  "  Dawn."  He  may  cease  to 
be  identified  actively  with  the  propaganda,  but 
he  is  still  subject  to  be  called  upon  for  a  term  of 
"service" — that's  the  ghastly  euphemism  they 
use.  You  remember  this  and  the  night  I  re- 
ceived it?' 

"  He  took  a  pasteboard  box  from  his  pocket 
and  handed  it  to  me.     It  contained  a  small, 
red  button,  fashioned  out  of  some  semiprecious 
stone  resembling  Mexican  opal. 
148 


The    Opal    Button 

" '  It  was  the  first  summons,'  continued  Estes, 
'and  within  three  days  I  should  have  been  on 
my  way  to  Berlin — to  receive  my  instructions.' 

'"You  refused,  then?' 

"'There  was  Betty,'  said  the  boy,  simply. 

'"You  must  understand,'  he  went  on,  'that 
this  "  service  "  can  only  be  demanded  once  of  a 
member.  He  may  refuse  compliance,  if  he 
chooses,  but  in  that  case  there  is  a  forfeit  to  be 
paid,  and  it  becomes  due  after  the  third  warn- 
ing.' 

" '  Well?' 

"  *  Must  be  paid,  you  understand.  If  not  by 
the  recalcitrant  himself,  then  by  the  agent  of 
the  "  Forty  "  through  whom  the  summons  comes. 
That  makes  it  clear,  doesn't  it — Balencourt  and 
his  debt  of  honor?' 

" '  When  did  you  know — about  him,  I  mean?' 

"'Here  is  the  second  button.  Balencourt 
slipped  it  into  my  hand  just  before  we  went 
out  to  dinner  to-night.' 

"  '  It  is  incredible.  Balencourt  is  a  man  and 
you  are  but  a  boy.  To  take  advantage  of  an 
act  of  youthful  folly — ' 

"'You  forget  that  it  is  his  life  or  mine,'  in- 
terrupted Estes,  quietly. 
149 


The    Gates   of   Chance 

"  '  But,  George,  it  is  unthinkable.  When  he 
knows — but  you  did  tell  him — about  Betty — ' 

"  '  That's  just  it,  old  chap.  Balencourt  asked 
her  to  many  him  a  week  ago,  just  before  I  re- 
ceived the  first  red  button.' 

"  The  monstrousness  of  the  thing  struck  me 
all  of  a  heap.  '  The  police,'  I  said,  vaguely,  but 
Estes  shook  his  head. 

'"It  is  but  postponing  the  bad  quarter  of  an 
hour,'  he  said,  gently,  'and  I  don't  think  that 
I  could  put  up  with  this  sort  of  thing  indefinite- 
ly. Moreover,  it  wouldn't  be  fair  to  —  to 
Betty. 

"'No,'  he  went  on,  'it's  better  to  have  a 
limit  set,  just  as  it  is  now — for  at  least  Balen- 
court will  keep  his  word.  Once  past  the  ist  of 
August,  I  am  safe.' 

"  '  We'll  work  within  the  limit,  then,'  I  said, 
cheerfully.  '  If  we  three — Crawfurd,  you,  and 
I — can't  match  wits  with  one  polyglot  son  of 
the  "Dawn,"  we  might  as  well  let  the  bottom 
drop  out  of  the  Monroe  Doctrine  and  be  done 
with  it.' 

"  We  had  arrived  at  the  club.  For  an  in- 
stant our  hands  met.  'Not  a  word  to  Betty,' 
he  whispered. 

150 


The    Opal    Button 

"'Of  course.'  Then  we  went  up-stairs  to 
the  pipe-room,  where  we  found  Crawfurd  sit- 
ting gloomily  over  his  fourth  Scotch-and-soda. 
The  clocks  were  striking  three  when  we  took 
Estes  back  to  his  apartments,  and  we  both 
spent  the  night  with  him.  The  issue  had  been 
fairly  joined,  and  it  was  exactly  two  months 
and  a  half  to  the  ist  of  August. 

"  The  rest  of  May  passed  absolutely  without 
incident,  and  sometimes  it  was  difficult  to  be- 
lieve in  the  reality  of  the  contest  in  which  we 
were  engaged.  Yet  we  omitted  no  precaution, 
and  during  the  whole  fortnight  Estes  was  never 
for  a  moment  out  of  the  sight  of  either  Craw- 
furd or  myself.  But  no;  I'll  correct  myself 
there,  for  we  had  to  allow  him  an  hour  and  a 
half  every  evening  with  Betty,  and  I  used  to 
mount  guard  in  the  street  outside,  measuring 
the  cold  and  unsympathetic  flag-stones.  And 
no  thanks  for  it,  either;  indeed,  Betty's  manner 
was  distinctly  top-lof  tical  whenever  we  chanced 
to  meet,  she  being  a  young  person  of  discern- 
ment, and  perfectly  well  aware  that  we  were 
keeping  her  in  the  dark  about  something.  But 
it  helped  George  to  forget,  and  so  I  counted  it 


The    Gates    of    Chance 

in  with  the  rest  of  the  day's  work  and  held  my 
peace. 

"  As  for  the  rest,  there  was  nothing  to  be  done 
except  to  keep  a  couple  of '  shadows '  on  Balen- 
court,  and  we  had  a  full  account  of  his  move- 
ments by  eight  o'clock  every  night — a  regular 
ship's  chart  worked  out  with  time-stamps  and 
neat  entries  in  red  ink,  after  the  accustomed 
fashion  of  Central  Office  men.  So  May  and  the 
first  two  weeks  in  June  dragged  uneventfully 
along;  the  period  of  stress  was  already  half 
over.  Then  came  Monday,  the  i$th  of  June, 
and  with  it  a  little  shock.  Our  man — I  mean 
Balencourt  —  concluded  to  disappear,  and  he 
did  it  as  effectually  as  though  there  were  no 
such  thing  as  a  'shadow'  in  existence.  When 
the  head-sleuth  came  that  night  to  report  his 
discomfiture,  I  cut  him  short  in  his  theorizing 
and  asked  for  the  facts.  But  there  was  only 
the  one — Balencourt  was  certainly  non  est,  and 
that  was  all  there  was  to  say.  Whereupon 
we  banished  the  '  shadows '  to  the  outer  dark- 
ness whence  they  had  come  and  convened  our 
original  council  of  war. 

"  One  thing  was  plain — the  danger  of  remain- 
ing longer  in  the  city.  There  are  so  many 
152 


The    Opal    Button 

things  that  may  happen  in  a  crowd,  and  espe- 
cially if  our  friend  Balencourt  formed  part 
of  that  unknown  quantity.  There  is  always  a 
chance  of  a  chimney-pot  tumbling  about  one's 
ears  or  of  being  run  down  by  some  reckless 
chauffeur.  And  who  is  to  know  the  truth? 
Accidents  will  happen;  they  are  wilful  things 
and  insist  upon  keeping  themselves  in  evidence. 
Imprimis,  then,  to  get  out  of  town.  But  where? 

" '  Hoodman's  Ledge,'  began  Crawfurd,  a  little 
doubtfully,  but  I  caught  him  up  with  joyful 
decision. 

"  'The  very  thing,'  I  said.  'I'll  send  a  wire 
to  the  caretaker  to-night,  and  we'll  be  off  by 
Thursday.  I  invite  you  all  —  for  six  weeks. 
Why,  of  course,  George,  that  includes  Betty 
and  her  mother;  they  were  to  come  to  me,  any- 
way, in  July.' 

"  Now,  Hoodman's  Ledge  is  one  of  the  innu- 
merable small  islands  that  dot  the  Maine  coast 
above  Portland.  A  few  years  ago  the  fancy 
had  taken  me  to  buy  the  island — it  was  only 
three  acres  in  area — and  later  on  I  had  put  up 
a  house,  nothing  very  elegant,  but  everything 
for  comfort,  a  model  bachelor's  establishment. 
For  our  present  need  no  better  asylum  could 


The    Gates    of    Chance 

have  offered.  The  island  was  small  and  oc- 
cupied only  by  my  own  domestic  establish- 
ment. It  lay  in  the  bight  of  Oliver's  Bay, 
quite  a  mile  from  the  nearest  shore,  and  -there 
was  but  one  other  bit  of  land  anywhere  around 
— an  uninhabited  islet  known  as  '  The  Thimble,' 
that  lay  a  quarter  of  a  mile  due  east.  Surely 
this  isolation  promised  security.  Here,  if  any- 
where, we  might  snap  our  fingers  at  the  machi- 
nations of  M.  Balencourt  and  the  mysterious 
'Forty.'  It  would  be  rather  cold  off  the 
Maine  coast  during  this  unseasonable  summer, 
but  there  were  fireplaces  in  plenty  and  stacks 
of  drift-wood.  The  only  real  difficulty  lay 
in  persuading  my  estimable  sister  to  cut  short 
her  Newport  visit  and  come  to  me  a  month 
earlier  than  usual. 

"  Finally,  I  left  it  to  Betty  to  manage.  '  I 
can't  explain  myself  any  clearer,  my  dear,'  I 
ended  up,  rather  lamely,  '  but  it  will  be  better 
for  George.  Will  you  do  it?' 

"  'So  you  won't  trust  me  with  the  secret? 
No;  you  needn't  protest — there  is  a  secret,  and 
I  ought  to  know  it.  But  you  have  put  it  so 
cleverly  that  I  haven't  any  choice  in  the  matter. 
"  Better  for  George"  indeed!  Very  good,  mon 
154 


The    Opal    Button 

oncle;  I'll  obey  orders.  But  remember  that  it 
will  be  the  worse  for  you  later  on,  unless  you 
can  show  good  and  sufficient  reason  for  this 
ridiculous  mystery.  Poor,  dear  mamma!  how 
she  will  hate  to  be  plucked  up — like  an  early 
radish.'  And  thereupon  Miss  Betty  sailed 
away  with  her  small  head  tilted  skyward. 

"But  she  did  manage  it,  and  by  Thursday 
night  the  party  was  actually  assembled  at '  The 
Breakers.'  There  was  a  sou'easter  on  that 
night,  but  the  drift-wood  burned  stoutly  in  the 
wide  chimney-piece,  with  now  and  then  a  cheer- 
ful sputter  as  a  few  stray  drops  sought  to  im- 
molate themselves  in  the  green  and  purple 
flames. 

"  'Not  so  bad — eh,  mamma?'  said  Betty,  as 
she  slipped  another  pillow  behind  Mrs.  Gather- 
wood's  back  and  handed  her  the  last  volume 
of  '  Gyp,'  with  the  pages  neatly  cut.  And  then 
she  actually  smiled  over  at  me.  I  think  I  am 
beginning  to  understand  Betty. 

"Again  I  pass  over  many  uneventful  days. 
'Nothing  doing,'  as  Crawfurd  put  it,  and 
laisser-faire  was  a  good  enough  motto  for  our 
side  of  the  house.  The  two  children,  of  course, 
were  blissfully  happy. 

155 
* 


The    Gates   of   Chance 

"  Three,  four,  nearly  six  weeks,  and  no  sign 
or  sound  from  M'sieur  Balencourt.  Not  so  sur- 
prising, after  all,  seeing  that  we  were  living  on 
an  island  surrounded  on  all  sides  by  deep  water 
and  no  land  within  a  mile  except  that  little  dot 
called  'The  Thimble.'  And  while  we  didn't 
make  any  parade  of  our  precautions,  Crawfurd 
and  I  kept  watch  and  watch,  just  as  we  used  to 
do  in  the  old  Alert,  on  the  China  station,  twenty- 
odd  years  ago.  Moreover,  the  gardener  and  my 
boatman  were  men  who  could  keep  their  eyes 
open  and  their  mouths  shut,  and,  finally,  there 
were  the  four  dogs — two  Great  Danes,  a  collie, 
and  'Snap,'  the  fox-terrier.  It  would  have 
been  a  bold  man  who  sought  to  visit  Hood- 
man's  Ledge,  uninvited,  during  that  particular 
month  and  a  half. 

"  It  was  the  morning  of  the  ist  of  August, 
and  I  was  lounging  on  the  piazza,  Crawfurd 
being  on  duty  at  the  time.  The  warm  weather 
had  come  at  last.  The  air  was  so  soft  and  de- 
lightful that  the  scientific  review  I  had  been 
reading  slipped  from  my  hand  and  I  gave  my- 
self up  to  indolence,  gazing  lazily  at  the  white 
pigeons  that  were  trading  about  the  lawn,  be- 
tween the  boat-house  and  a  rustic  pavilion 
156 


The    Opal    Button 

overlooking  the  tennis  -  court.  One  bird  I 
marked  in  particular,  admiring  his  strong  and 
graceful  sweeps  and  dips  as  he  circled  about, 
possessed,  as  it  were,  with  the  pure  joy  of  mo- 
tion. I  followed  him  as  he  sank  down  on  a 
long  slant  to  the  lawn,  swift  as  a  bolt  from  the 
blue;  then  I  rubbed  my  eyes  in  amaze.  It 
was  a  pigeon  of  snowy  whiteness  that  an  instant 
before  had  been  flying  free ;  it  was  a  coal-black 
nondescript  that  now  fluttered  feebly  once  or 
twice  and  then  lay  still  on  the  gravelled  path, 
close  to  the  stone  sun-dial.  I  ran  down  the 
steps  and  bent  over  the  pitiful  thing.  Pfui ! — 
the  bird  was  but  a  charred  and  blackened  lump 
of  dead  flesh.  There  was  a  disagreeable  odor  of 
burned  feathers  in  the  air.  Mechanically  my 
eye  fell  on  the  sun-dial;  there  was  a  spot  the 
size  of  a  silver  dollar  on  the  side  of  the  pedestal 
where  the  stone  had  crumbled  and  disintegrated, 
as  though  it  had  been  placed  at  the  focus  of 
some  immensely  powerful  burning  -  glass.  I 
stepped  behind  the  sun-dial  and  looked  out  to  sea. 
And  there,  in  line  with  the  pedestal  of  the  dial 
and  the  dead  bird  on  the  path,  lay'  The  Thimble.' 
"Now,  as  I  have  said, 'The  Thimble'  was  a 
rocky  islet  only  a  few  rods  in  extent,  but  densely 


The    Gates   of    Chance 

wooded  with  spruce  and  blue-gum.  The  gen- 
eral shape  of  the  rock  was  that  of  a  lady's  thim- 
ble; hence  the  name.  Rather  a  picturesque 
object  in  the  seascape,  but,  of  course,  utterly 
valueless  except  for  occasional  picnic  uses  —  a 
bit  of  No  Man's  Land  whose  purpose  in  the 
economy  of  nature  had  hitherto  remained  un- 
fulfilled. But  now? 

"  I  went  back  to  the  piazza  and  caught  up  a 
pair  of  stereo-binoculars  that  were  lying  on  the 
table.  There,  shining  like  a  star  through  the 
close  curtain  of  green  that  veiled  'The  Thim- 
ble,' was  the  projecting  end  of  a  highly  polished 
tube  of  steel.  And  even  as  I  gazed  a  man's 
face  peered  out  as  though  in  the  act  of  sighting 
— Aram  Balencourt! 

' '  Then  I  understood .  The  tube  was  the  means 
of  projecting  some  enormously  powerful  heat- 
beam  whose  nature  must  be  akin  to  that  of  the 
so-called  X-ray.  The  article  I  had  been  read- 
ing not  ten  minutes  ago — what  was  the  title? — 
'  Radium,  the  Wizard  Metal ' —  that  incompre- 
hensible substance,  forever  sending  forth  its 
terrible  emanations,  yet  never  diminished  by 
even  the  ten  -  thousandth  part  of  a  grain  —  a 
natural  force  whose  properties  and  functions 
158 


The    Opal    Button 

were  but  imperfectly  understood,  even  by  the 
learned  men  who  had  succeeded  in  isolating  it, 
an  agent  of  such  enormous  potency  that  an 
ounce  or  two  might  serve  to  put  a  battle-ship 
out  of  commission — a  couple  of  pounds  and  the 
universe  itself  were  endangered.  Even  now 
from  that  steel  tube,  sighted  so  carefully  on  the 
pedestal  of  the  sun-dial,  billions  of  ions  might 
be  rushing,  invisible  to  the  eye,  but  certain 
death  to  whatever  of  animal  existence  they 
chanced  to  encounter.  There  was  the  pigeon 
lying  dead  on  the  walk. 

"  '  Do  hurry,  George,'  called  out  Betty's  thin, 
sweet  treble.  She  stood  at  the  entrance  to  the 
pavilion  and  waved  a  tennis  -  racquet  impa- 
tiently. 

"'Coming,'  was  the  cheerful  response,  and 
Estes  turned  the  corner  of  the  house.  He  took 
the  gravelled  path  at  full  speed.  In  an  instant 
or  two  at  the  farthest  he  would  be  passing 
between  the  sun-dial  and  the  dead  pigeon,  in 
line  with  those  deadly  radiations. 

"We  had  been  playing  a  little  single-wicket 

earlier  in  the  day,  and  a  cricket-ball  lay  on  the 

wicker  table  at  my  hand.     I  could  not  have 

uttered  a  word  or  a  cry  to  save  my  life — to  save 

159 


The   Gates   of   Chance 

his — but  instinct  held  true.  With  a  full,  round- 
arm  sweep  the  ball  left  my  hand,  catching  the 
boy  squarely  on  the  forehead.  He  fell  within 
his  stride. 

' '  Betty  was  with  us  on  the  instant,  but  I  seized 
and  held  her  despite  her  struggles.  Naturally, 
she  thought  I  had  gone  mad.  Then  I  looked 
over  again  at  'The  Thimble,'  just  in  time  to  see 
a  sheet  of  palest-colored  flame  shoot  up  from  the 
island.  The  dense  mass  of  green  foliage  seemed 
to  wither  and  consume  away  within  the  tick  of 
a  clock.  Through  the  glass  I  caught  a  glimpse 
of  a  dark  figure  that  rolled  down  to  the  water's 
edge,  clutching  feebly  at  the  shifting  shingle. 
Perhaps  a  log,  after  all — it  lay  so  still. 

"An  instant  later  'The  Thimble'  disappeared 
in  a  cloud  of  grayish  vapor,  the  dull  sound  of  an 
explosion  filled  the  ear,  and  the  ground  under 
our  feet  trembled.  There  was  nothing  to  be 
seen,  even  with  the  glass,  save  a  light  scum 
covering  the  water  and  some  fragments  of 
charred  tree  branches.  But  the  air  about  us 
was  full  of  a  fine  dust  that  powdered  Betty's 
hair,  as  though  for  a  costume  ball,  and  made  me 
cough  consumedly. 

"  Naturally,  there  were  quite  a  number  of  ex- 
160 


The    Opal    Button 

planations  to  make  to  Miss  Betty  after  George 
had  been  resuscitated  —  a  slightly  disfigured 
hero,  but  still  in  the  ring — but  I  spare  you.  The 
dear  girl  listened  quietly,  but  at  the  end  she 
began  to  tremble,  and  I  won't  say  but  that  she 
cried  a  bit.  It  doesn't  matter  if  she  did,  and  I 
think  we  all  began  to  feel  a  little  queer  when  we 
came  to  think  it  over.  However,  it  was  over — 
no  possible  doubt  about  that. 

"  '  One  thing  I  don't  understand,'  said  Craw- 
furd.  '  There  were  to  be  three  warnings,  and 
Estes  only  received  two  of  the  red  buttons. 
Whereupon  Betty  blushed,  and  drew  a  little 
package  from  her  pocket. 

'"It  came  last  night  directed  to  George,'  she 
said,  '  but  I  forgot  to  give  it  to  him.  It  broke 
open  in  my  pocket  and  it  contained  this.'  She 
held  out  to  us  the  third  red  button.  That  was 
decent  of  Balencourt — to  have  given  the  last 
warning. 

"  There  is  only  one  possible  hypothesis  to  ac- 
count for  the  catastrophe.  Balencourt  was 
dealing  with  a  terrible  force,  whose  nature  was 
but  partially  understood,  even  by  science.  He 
had  intended  to  use  it  to  fulfil  the  vengeance 
of  the  'Dawn,'  but  something  had  happened, 
n  161 


The    Gates    of    Chance 

and  in  an  instant  the  monster  had  turned  and 
rended  its  master.  That  is  all  that  we  can 
know. 

"  Two  days  later  George  and  Betty  were  mar- 
ried, for  they  stuck  to  the  original  date  in  spite 
of  the  fact  that  George,  with  a  lump  on  his 
forehead  as  big  as  the  cricket-ball  itself,  did  not 
make  a  particularly  presentable  bridegroom.  I 
carried  an  umbrella  at  the  function  whose  in- 
comparable rolling  was  remarked  upon  by  all. 
Need  I  say  that  it  was  the  same  umbrella  that 
Balencourt's  man,  Jarman,  had  manipulated 
for  me  that  fateful  evening  when  we  dined  at 
the  Argyle.  I  shall  never  unroll  that  umbrella, 
even  at  the  cost  of  a  wetting.  To  me  it  is  a 
memento," 

"There's  melodrama  for  you,"  said  Indiman, 
a  little  shamefacedly  as  he  finished.  "But 
one  feels  differently,  you  know,  about  taking 
chances  where  a  nice  girl  like  Betty  is  concerned. 
Let  me  see ;  it's  still  early.  Do  you  feel  up  to 
taking  that  long-deferred  ride  on  a  trolley-car? 
Good !  We'll  take  the  cross-town  over  to  Eighth 
Avenue  and  get  into  the  heart  of  it  at  once." 

"That's  an  unlucky  number,"  said  Indiman, 
162 


The    Opal    Button 

as  we  boarded  a  car.  "Sixteen  hundred  and 
twenty-four — the  sum  of  the  units  is  equal  to 
thirteen." 

"You're  going  to  lose  some  money,"  I  sug- 
gested. 

"The  tip  points  that  way,"  he  replied. 


VIII 
The    Tip-top    Tip 

you  know  Abingdon  Square?  It  is 
small,  irregularly  shaped  triangle 
of  asphalt  situated  on  the  lower  West 
Side,  and  at  the  intersecting-point  of 
Eighth  Avenue  and  Hudson  Street. 
The  houses  that  front  upon  it  have 
seen  better  days .  Many  of  them  are  now  the  quar- 
ters of  cheap  political  clubs  or  centres  of  foreign 
revolutionary  propaganda .  It  is  a  neighborhood 
that  has  finally  lost  all  semblance  to  gentility 
and  has  become  frankly  and  unreservedly 
shabby.  A  square,  mind  you,  and  not  a  park, 
for  there  is  neither  blade  of  grass  nor  tree  in  all 
of  its  dreary  expanse.  Half  a  block  to  the  north 
lies  a  minute  gore  of  land  surrounded  by  an 
iron  fence,  and  here  are  flowers  and  green- 
ery upon  which  the  eye  may  rest  and  be  satis- 
fied. But  in  Abingdon  Square  proper  there  is 
164 


The    Tip-top    Tip 

only  the  music-stand,  that  occupies  the  middle 
of  the  miniature  plaza,  a  hideous  wooden  struct- 
ure in  which  one  of  the  city  bands  plays  on  al- 
ternate Sunday  afternoons  during  the  summer. 
However,  open  space  counts  in  the  city,  and 
the  air  circulates  a  trifle  more  freely  through 
the  square  than  it  does  in  the  side  streets — at 
least,  that  is  the  opinion  of  the  neighborhood 
people,  and  they  flock  there  on  a  hot  night  like 
seals  at  a  blow -hole.  Even  the  submerged 
tenth  must  come  up  to  breathe  now  and  then. 
During  the  dreadful  passage  of  a  hot  wave  from 
the  West  one  may  count  them  by  the  dozens, 
coatless  and  even  shirtless  wretches,  lying  prone 
on  the  flag-stones  like  fish  made  ready  for  the 
grid.  Occasionally,  a  street  -  cleaning  "White 
Wings"  will  be  compassionate  enough  to  open 
a  fire-hydrant,  under  pretence  of  flushing  the 
gutters,  and  then,  for  a  few  minutes,  there  is 
joy  in  Abingdon  Square.  Women  line  the  curb, 
cooling  their  feet  in  the  rushing  flood ;  the  men 
light  their  pipes  and  contentedly  watch  the 
children  as  they  paddle  about .  There  is  the  echo 
of  mountain  brooks  in  the  gush  of  the  water  as  it 
roars  from  the  hydrant.  With  eyes  tight  closed 
one  may  conjure  up  the  phantasma  of  green 
165 


The   Gates   of   Chance 

leaves  waving  and  of  meadows  knee-deep  with 
lush  grasses  and  starred  with  ox-eyes.  Such  is 
Abingdon  Square  on  a  night  in  early  August 
when  first  the  dog-star  begins  to  rage. 

Now  my  friend  Esper  Indiman  is  a  social  phi- 
losopher; life  in  all  its  phases  interests  him 
tremendously.  Consequently,  he  likes  to  take 
long  rides  on  trolley-cars.  He  calls  them  his 
vaudeville  in  miniature,  and  sometimes  the  per- 
formance is  amusing — I  acknowledge  it  freely. 
But  to-night  the  actors  were  few  and  the  play 
dull.  I  began  to  yawn.  The  car,  one  of  the 
Eighth  Avenue  line  bound  down-town,  swung 
round  a  curve  into  Abingdon  Square,  and  In- 
diman touched  my  arm. 

"What's  going  on  over  there?"  he  said. 

Although  it  was  not  a  concert  night,  there 
was  a  crowd  around  the  band-stand.  It  looked 
as  though  some  one  was  haranguing  the  as- 
semblage from  the  vantage-point  of  the  music 
pavilion — a  local  political  orator  or  perhaps  a 
street  preacher.  "Salvation  Army,"  I  sug- 
gested. 

"Shall  we  take  a  look?"  I  nodded,  and  we 
alighted  and  pushed  our  way  to  the  front. 

It  was  a  young  man  who  stood  there,  rather 
166 


The    Tip-top    Tip 

a  nice-looking  chap,  with  a  broad  forehead  from 
which  the  thin,  fair  hair  fell  away  in  a  tumbled 
wave.  He  was  attired  in  evening  clothes,  as- 
suredly an  unusual  sight  in  Abingdon  Square, 
where  they  do  not  dress  for  dinner,  and  the 
expression  upon  his  countenance  was  that 
of  recklessness  tempered  with  a  certain  half- 
humorous  melancholy.  "One  dollar,"  he  re- 
peated, as  we  came  within  sight  and  hearing. 
"  Do  I  hear  no  other  bid?  One  dollar,  one  dol- 
lar. Will  any  gentleman  make  it  a  half?" 

"I'll  give  fifty  for  your  skull  alone,"  spoke 
up  a  youngish,  sallow-faced  man  who  stood  di- 
rectly opposite  the  stand.  "On  condition," 
he  added,  in  a  lower  tone,  "that  the  goods 
are  delivered  at  Bellevue  before  the  end  of 
the  week.  Foot  of  Twenty-sixth  Street,  you 
know." 

The  young  man  smiled  with  a  pathetic 
quizzicality .  ' '  Now,  doctor, ' '  he  said ,  reproach- 
fully, "  there's  no  use  in  going  over  that  ground 
again.  I  made  the  terms  of  the  sale  perfectly 
plain,  and  there  can  be  no  deviation  from 
them." 

"  Well,  if  that's  your  last  word,"  retorted  the 
unsuccessful  bidder,  "I'll  say  good -evening." 
167 


The    Gates   of   Chance 

He  turned  to  Indiman,  who  stood  at  his  elbow. 
"A  fakir,"  he  growled,  disgustedly.  "Now, 
I'll  leave  it  to  you,  sir." 

"  If  you  will  acquaint  me  with  the  essential 
particulars,"  said  Indiman,  "  I  shall  be  most 
happy  to  pronounce  upon  them." 

"  In  two  words.  This  cheap  josher  has  been 
offering  to  sell  himself,  out  and  out,  to  the 
highest  bidder.  I  make  him  a  cash  offer  and 
he  takes  water." 

"  Pardon  me,"  interrupted  the  young  man  in 
evening  dress,  "but  your  bid  is  plainly  for 
what  the  students  in  medical  colleges  call  a 
'subject.'  Now,  I  expressly  disclaimed  any  in- 
tention of  terminating  my  material  existence 
at  any  fixed  period  in  the  future.  On  the  con- 
trary, it  is  for  the  purpose  of  prolonging  my  life 
that  I  am  driven  to  this  extraordinary  proced- 
ure. It  is  myself,  my  talents,  and  my  services 
of  which  I  desire  to  dispose.  My  skull,  in  which 
you  seem  to  take  such  an  interest,  goes,  of 
course,  with  the  bargain.  But  I  do  not  guar- 
antee immediate  delivery." 

"Your    services,"    sneered    the    student    of 
medicine.     "May  I  inquire  into  their  nature 
and  nominal  cash  valuation?" 
168 


The    Tip-top    Tip 

"  I  am  an  experienced  leader  of  the  cotillon," 
answered  the  young  man  in  evening  clothes, 
with  a  sweet  and  serious  dignity. 

"Umph!" 

"  I  play  a  fair  hand  at  Bridge,  and  have  an 
unexceptionable  eye  for  matching  worsteds." 

"G-r-r!" 

"That  about  sums  up  my  list  of  accomplish- 
ments, but  I  dare  say  that  I  could  learn  to  dig, 
for  I  have  my  full  complement  of  limbs.  Final- 
ly, a  rare  and  pretty  talent  for  losing  money  and 
a  penchant  for  the  unlucky  side  of  everything." 

"Well,  gentlemen,"  declared  the  student  of 
medicine,  with  a  snort,  "it's  quite  evident  that 
we're  all  playing  the  fool  together.  I  wish  you 
a  very  good  -  evening,  and  the  devil  take  all 
crawfishers."  And  with  that  he  marched  off, 
evidently  in  high  dudgeon.  A  little  ripple  of 
laughter  swept  over  the  upturned  faces  of  the 
crowd. 

"One  dollar,"  repeated  the  young  man,  his 
voice  full  of  a  polite  weariness.  "Do  I  hear 
no  other  bid?  I  offer  myself,  a  human  chattel, 
at  absolute  sale;  no  reservations;  warranted 
sound  and  kind;  no  objection  to  the  country; 
not  afraid  of  the  Elevated  railway." 
169 


The    Gates    of    Chance 

"Five  dollars,"  said  a  voice  at  the  rear,  and 
a  short,  stout  man,  with  little,  black,  beadlike 
eyes,  held  up  his  hand  to  identify  his  bid.  "Joe 
Bardi,"  said  a  man  to  his  neighbor.  'Both 
turned  interestedly. 

"And  who  is  Joe  Bardi?"  inquired  Indiman, 
blandly. 

"  Business  of  shipping  sailors.  There's  big 
money  in  it,  they  say." 

"Ah,  yes,  a  crimp — isn't  that  what  they  call 
them?" 

"  Right  you  are,  mister.  A  hard  one,  too.  It'll 
be  a  sharp  man  that  does  for  old  Joe  Bardi." 

"Five  dollars,"  came  again  from  the  squat 
figure  with  its  ratlike  eyes,  and  the  young  man 
in  evening  dress  paled  a  little.  He  had  over- 
heard the  colloquy  between  Indiman  and  the 
native  Abingdonian,  and  it  is  difficult  to  re- 
gard with  equanimity  the  prospect  of  a  trip 
before  the  mast — to  China,  let  us  say.  In  an 
American  ship,  too,  more  shame  to  us  that  it 
must  be  said. 

But  the  young  man  was  thoroughbred.  He 
had  sat  down  to  play  a  desperate  game  with 
Fortune,  and  he  could  not  withdraw  with  the 
cards  on  the  table. 

170 


The    Tip-top    Tip 

"Five  dollars,"  he  repeated,  mechanically. 
"Five  dollars.  What  am  I  offered?  Five 
dollars." 

"Want  me  to  buy  you  dat,  Mame?"  said  a 
half -grown  boy  of  the  unmistakable  tough  type. 
"  Whatjer  soy?  Five  cases  for  dat  mug!  And 
Tuesday  ain't  bargain-day,  nuther." 

"  Well,  it  looks  like  thirty  cents,"  said  Mame, 
critically.  "In  Chinese  money,  too  —  thirty 
yen-yen.  What  you  say,  John?"  The  crowd 
laughed  again. 

"Five  dollars." 

"  Five  dollars,"  repeated  the  young  man,  and 
there  were  little  drops  of  sweat  on  the  broad, 
fair  forehead.  "Five  dollars,  five  dollars.  Do 
I  hear  no  other  bid?  Five  dollars  —  going — 
going—" 

"Six." 

It  was  Indiman  who  spoke,  and  this  time  the 
crowd  gaped  in  good  earnest.  An  indescrib- 
able emotion  possessed  for  an  instant  the  face 
of  the  young  man  in  evening  clothes.  Then 
he  fell  back  upon  his  first  manner,  half -petulant, 
half -mocking.  "Six  dollars  I  am  bid,"  he  an- 
nounced, briskly,  and  looked  straight  at  the 
shipping  agent. 

171 


The    Gates   of<   Chance 

Joe  Bardi  hesitated.  "And  a  half,"  he  said, 
tentatively,  as  an  angler  who  feels  the  mouth 
of  the  fish  that  he  fears  may  be  insecurely 
hooked. 

Indiman  capped  the  bid  promptly.  "  Seven 
dollars,"  he  said. 

The  crimp  scowled.  "  Make  it  eight,"  he  re- 
torted. 

"Ten." 

The  Italian  hesitated  again.  This  had  the 
appearance  of  a  contest,  and  he  was  not  of  the 
sort  who  love  a  fight  for  its  own  sake.  But  his 
cupidity  had  been  powerfully  aroused.  There 
was  a  pretty  profit  in  advance  money  to  be 
made  if  he  could  get  this  young  fool's  signature 
on  the  ship's  papers  of  the  Southern  Cross,  out- 
ward bound  for  Shanghai,  on  the  morrow.  He 
must  make  at  least  another  try.  It  might  be 
that  the  intrusive  stranger  from  the  silk-stock- 
ing district  was  only  amusing  himself  and 
would  presently  withdraw. 

"Twelve,"  he  said,  and  "fifteen,"  answered 
Indiman. 

The  crowd  laughed,  and  Joe  Bardi's  vanity 
was  sorely  touched.  It  was  not  pleasant  to  be 
badgered  in  this  unseemly  manner  while  en- 
172 


The    Tip-top    Tip 

gaged  in  beating  one's  own  preserves.     Discre- 
tion forsook  him  forthwith. 

"Twenty -five,"  he  bellowed. 

"Fifty." 

"A  hundred,  and  be  damned  to  you!" 

"Two  hundred." 

There  was  a  pause ;  the  crowd  held  its  breath 
in  silent  and  joyous  expectancy.  Joe  Bardi 
passed  a  hand  over  his  wet  forehead  and  pulled 
irresolutely  upon  his  cigar.  A  severe-looking 
old  man  expressed  his  entire  disapproval  of  the 
proceedings.  "  It's  against  the  Constitution," 
he  said,  loudly.  "How  about  the  Fourteenth 
Amendment?  Well,  the  number  doesn't  mat- 
ter anyway.  Officer,  I  call  upon  you  to  stop 
this  unlawful  and  outrageous  farce.  A  human 
being  selling  himself  on  the  auction  block! 
The  slave-market  set  up  again  in  this  Christian 
city  of  New  York!  It's  a  crime  against  the 
Constitution." 

But  the  policeman  was  a  prudent  person,  and 
as  yet  he  had  seen  no  cause  to  interfere.  The 
proceedings  were  unusual,  no  doubt,  and  they 
might  be  against  the  Constitution ;  he  wouldn't 
like  to  say.  It  was  none  of  his  business  any- 
way; he  went  by  the  code. 
173 


The    Gates    of    Chance 

"Bah!"  snorted  the  old  gentleman,  and 
rushed  away  to  find  a  city  magistrate. 

"Two  hundred  dollars,"  repeated  the  young 
man  in  evening  clothes.  "Two  hundred  dol- 
lars. What  am  I  bid?  Going,  going — " 

The  shipping  agent  made  a  hasty  mental 
calculation — there  was  no  profit  in  the  transac- 
tion at  anything  over  his  last  bid  of  an  even 
hundred.  But  he  was  tempted  to  go  a  little 
further  and  run  up  the  price  on  his  adversary, 
thus  punishing  him  for  interfering  in  a  man's 
private  business.  Very  good,  but  suppose  the 
stranger  suddenly  refused  to  follow  the  lead; 
then  it  would  be  Joe  Bardi  himself  who  would 
be  mulcted.  Revenge  would  be  sweet,  but  it 
was  too  dangerous;  he  would  stop  where  he 
was. 

"Two  hundred,  two  hundred  —  going,  go- 
ing— "  The  crowd  began  to  banter  the  crimp. 

"Lift  her  again,  Joe,"  called  out  one  voice. 
"Open  up  that  barrel  of  plunks  you've  got 
stored  away  in  your  cellar,"  exhorted  another 
counsellor.  "A  nice,  white  slave — that's  what 
you're  needing  in  your  business,"  advised  a 
third.  But  Joe  Bardi  kept  his  eyes  on  the 
ground  and  said  nothing. 
J74 


The    Tip- top    Tip 

"Gone,"  said  the  young  man  in  evening 
clothes. 

Indiman  took  four  fifty-dollar  bills  from  his 
wallet  and  handed  them  to  the  young  man. 
The  latter  glanced  at  the  notes  and  stuffed 
them  carelessly  into  his  waistcoat  -  pocket. 
Then,  turning  to  Indiman: 

"Sir,"  he  said,  with  a  profound  seriousness, 
"I  am  now  your  property.  Ah!  Pardon 
me — " 

Like  a  cat  he  had  sprung  between  Indiman 
and  the  crimp.  With  a  dexterous  upward  fling 
of  his  arm  the  knife  in  the  Italian's  hand  went 
spinning  into  the  air.  This  was  something 
that  came  within  the  policeman's  accustomed 
sphere,  and  he  took  immediate  charge  of  Mr. 
Joe  Bardi.  It  was  all  done  in  a  most  methodical 
manner,  and  ten  minutes  later  we  were  free 
to  depart.  A  "  cruiser"  cab  rattled  by  and  the 
three  of  us  squeezed  in. 

"To  the  Utinam  Club,"  ordered  Indiman. 

Seated  at  a  table  in  the  big  dining-room  of 
the  club,  we  drank  a  formal  cocktail  to  our  bet- 
ter acquaintance. 

"  But  I  am  afraid  that  you  have  made  a  bad 
bargain,"  said  the  young  man  to  Indiman. 


The    Gates   of   Chance 

"  Frankly,  now,  I  doubt  if  I  can  be  made  to  pay 
even  three  per  cent,  on  the  investment.  That's 
no  better  than  a  government  bond  and  not  half 
so  safe."  ^ 

I  have  already  collected  one  satisfactory 
dividend,"  said  Indiman,  courteously.  "That 
was  cleverly  done — to  force  the  knife  out  of  his 
hand  and  into  the  air." 

"It's  a  part  of  the  Japanese  science  of  de- 
fence without  weapons,"  said  the  youth,  blush- 
ing ingenuously.  "  Jiu-jitsu,  you  know.  I  took 
some  lessons  of  a  chap  in  Tokio." 

"Moreover,  there  is  your  story,"  continued 
Indiman.  "Will  you  favor  me  with  some  par- 
ticulars regarding  yourself  and  the  circum- 
stances leading  up  to  our  late  meeting?  The 
situation  was  an  unusual  one,  and  the  expla- 
nation should  be  interesting." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  answered  the  young  man, 
with  a  faint  smile,  "  my  narrative  is  of  the  most 
commonplace  character  imaginable,  save  only 
for  the  final  chapter.  But  judge  for  yourself. 

"  My  name  is  Luke  Harding,  and,  so  far  as  I 

know,  I  have  not  a  single  blood  relation  living — 

at  least,  none  nearer  than  a  third  cousin.    Two 

years  ago  I  inherited  my  paternal  estate.    It  was 

176 


The    Tip-top   Tip 

too  small  to  support  me  in  the  manner  of  life 
to  which  I  had  been  accustomed,  and  at  the 
same  time  it  was  large  enough  to  effectually 
deaden  any  inclination  towards  real  work.  As 
an  inevitable  consequent,  I  became  a  specu- 
lator. Little  by  little  my  fortune  has  disap- 
peared in  the  abyss  of  stock  gambling;  now  it 
is  gone  entirely.  To  add  to  my  misfortunes, 
my  apartments  were  entered  last  night  by 
burglars  and  literally  cleaned  out.  I  must  have 
been  drugged,  for  when  I  awoke  this  morning, 
with  a  bad  headache,  I  could  remember  nothing 
of  what  had  happened ;  there  were  only  results 
to  speak  for  themselves.  The  loot  had  been 
complete;  the  scoundrels  had  even  carried  off 
my  ordinary  garments,  leaving  me — what  ex- 
quisite irony ! — only  this  suit  of  evening  clothes 
wherewith  to  cover  my  nakedness.  Being 
somewhat  sensitive  to  the  proprieties,  I  was 
obliged  to  remain  within  doors  until  darkness 
fell,  and  I  spent  the  time  meditating  upon  my 
future  course  of  action.  As  I  have  said,  I  have 
no  relatives  to  whom  I  could  apply,  and  my 
friends  had  already  taxed  themselves  beyond 
reason  in  my  behalf.  It  was  clear,  then,  that  I 
was  born  unlucky,  and  I  concluded  that  I  had 
177 


The    Gates   of   Chance 

no  longer  any  right  to  a  separate  and  inde- 
pendent existence.  To  one  of  my  tempera- 
ment suicide  is  a  difficult  proposition.  Finally, 
I  lit  upon  the  idea  which  you  have  just  wit- 
nessed in  execution.  A  healthy,  intelligent 
young  man — surely  there  must  be  some  market 
for  his  exclusive  services?  Fortunes  used  to 
be  made  in  the  African  slave-trade. 

"  It  only  remains  to  add  that  I  immediately 
started  to  realize  upon  these  reasonable  expec- 
tations. I  went  to  the  plaza  at  Fifty-ninth 
Street  and  Fifth  Avenue  and  asked  for  bids. 
Unfortunately,  no  one  seemed  to  take  me  seri- 
ously, and  a  policeman  obliged  me  to  move  on. 
I  had  the  same  disheartening  experience  in 
front  of  Delmonico's  and  again  in  the  Turkish 
room  of  the  Waldorf-Astoria.  It  is  August, 
you  know,  and  the  town  is  empty,  but  I  was  a 
bargain;  I  can  say  that  without  affectation. 
Merely  to  have  bought  me  on  speculation,  with 
the  idea  of  unloading  on  one  of  the  Adirondack 
or  White  mountain  hotel  resorts — it  would 
have  been  impossible  to  lose.  But  I  could  not 
get  a  bid,  and  so  I  shifted  along  down-town — 
Madison  Square,  Union  Square,  then  westward 
by  Jefferson  Market  and  West  Tenth  Street. 
178 


The    Tip-top    Tip 

Ever  edging  a  little  closer  to  the  river,  you  ob- 
serve, and  yet,  upon  my  honor,  I  was  not  con- 
scious of  any  definite  volition  in  the  matter; 
it  was  as  though  some  one  were  gently  pushing 
me  along.  Then  Abingdon  Square  and  your 
entrance  upon  the  boards  of  my  little  drama — 
you  and  Mr.  Bardi.  Gentlemen,  I  thank  you 
for  your  attention." 

"I  should  say,  Thorp,"  said  Indiman,  "that 
Mr.  Harding  is  well  qualified  for  membership 
in  the  Utinam  Club.  Will  you  put  him  up  and 
I'll  second  him?  The  club,"  he  added,  by  way 
of  explanation  to  our  guest,  "is  an  association 
of  the  unsuccessful  in  life — the  non-strenuous, 
the  incapable — above  all,  the  unlucky." 

"  Rest  assured  that  my  eligibility  is  beyond 
question,"  answered  Mr.  Harding,  with  a  smile. 
"  In  a  society  where  misfortune  confers  a  cer- 
tain cachet  I  may  confidently  expect  to  attain 
distinction." 

"Do  you  really  consider  yourself  an  abnor- 
mally unlucky  person?"  said  Indiman,  serious- 
ly. "I  have  a  reason  for  asking." 

"Upon  my  soul,"  returned  the  young  man, 
warmly.  "  I  verily  believe  that  I  have  a  genius 
for  getting  on  the  wrong  side  of  things.  If  I 
179 


The    Gates    of    Chance 

should  wager  you  that  I  am  alive  at  this  mo- 
ment there  would  be  a  bolt  out  of  the  blue  be- 
fore the  money  could  be  paid  over." 

A  heavily  built  man  of  elderly  appearance 
entered  the  dining-hall.  He  was  accompanied 
by  a  friend  who  might  be  a  banker  or  broker. 
The  pair  picked  out  a  table  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  room  and  immediately  plunged  into  ear- 
nest conversation,  their  heads  close  together  and 
speaking  in  guarded  undertones. 

"The  gentleman  with  the  gray  hair,"  said 
young  Mr.  Harding,  eagerly,  "that  is  Senator 
Morrison,  chairman  of  the  committee  on  for- 
eign relations.  He  must  be  just  in  from  Wash- 
ington. Congress,  you  know,  is  in  extra  ses- 
sion." 

"Ah,  yes;  an  able  man,"  said  Indiman,  po- 
litely. 

"He  would  know — he  would  know,"  mut- 
tered Harding,  disjointedly.  His  burning  gaze 
fixed  itself  upon  the  two  men  at  the  distant 
table,  as  though  by  sheer  will-power  he  would 
surprise  the  secret  of  their  whispering  lips. 
"He  must — he  does  know." 

"What?"  asked  Indiman. 

"Man,  man,  it's  a  matter  of  millions!  Pan- 
180 


The   Tip-top    Tip 

ama  Trading  Company  common  stock  is  quoted 
at  70,  and  everything  depends  upon  the  pas- 
sage by  the  Senate  of  the  canal  treaty.  The 
committee  must  have  come  to  a  decision,  and 
Morrison  knows.  I  tell  you  he  knows  —  he 
knows.  One  word — it  would  be  enough — Wall 
Street — Panama  common — " 

Indiman  did  not  answer;  he  seemed  preoc- 
cupied, indifferent  even,  his  chair  pushed  back 
from  the  table  and  his  eyes  half  closed.  Let 
me  explain  that  the  small  side-tables  in  the 
Utinam  Club  dining-room  are  not  set  flush 
against  the  wall,  as  is  usually  the  case,  but  at 
some  little  distance  from  it.  Consequently, 
when  there  is  a  party  of  three  at  a  table,  one 
man  sits  on  the  inside  with  his  back  to  the  wall, 
a  sensible  arrangement  in  that  it  allows  the 
waiter  free  access  by  the  unoccupied  outer 
side  of  the  table.  It  so  happened  that  Indi- 
man had  this  inside  seat. 

Harding's  lips  moved  mechanically.  "The 
treaty,  the  treaty!"  he  repeated  again  and 
again.  "The  committee  reports  to-morrow; 
the  Senate  is  certain  to  act  upon  its  recom- 
mendation. If  I  only  knew!" 

The  conference  at  the  other  table  was  a  brief 
181 


The    Gates    of    Chance 

one ;  its  continuance  had  been  measured  by  the 
consumption,  on  the  part  of  the  Senator,  of  a 
couple  of  biscuits  and  a  glass  of  spirits-and- 
water.  The  two  men  rose  and  left  the  dining- 
room. 

"Of  course  you  are  going  back  to-night, 
Senator,"  said  the  younger  man  as  they  passed 
our  table. 

"At  midnight.     A  hard  trip." 

"But  a  profitable  one;  don't  forget  that." 
They  laughed  and  walked  on. 

For  a  little  while  we  sat  in  silence  over  our 
cheese  and  salad.  Then  Indiman  spoke  up, 
suddenly : 

"Mr.  Harding." 

The  young  man  looked  at  him  dully. 

"The  story  of  your  persistent  ill-fortune  has 
interested  me.  But  I  find  it  difficult  to  believe 
in  the  consistency  of  bad  luck ;  it  must  change 
sooner  or  later." 

"  Not  for  me,"  answered  the  young  man,  with 
quick  conviction. 

"I  have  a  fancy  to  put  that  to  the  test. 
Take  this  card  to  my  brokers — you  know  them, 
Sandford  &  Sands,  of  New  Street.  I  have  in- 
structed them  to  place  at  your  disposal  a  credit 
182 


The    Tip-top    Tip 

of  one  hundred  thousand  dollars.  You  will  be 
at  their  office  to-morrow  morning,  and  at  pre- 
cisely ten  o'clock  you  will  receive  from  me  a 
sealed  communication  containing  certain  in- 
formation upon  which  you  can  rely  absolute- 
ly. Use  your  credit  according  to  your  best 
judgment,  and  report  the  results  to  me 
at  eight  o'clock  to-morrow  evening.  The  ad- 
dress is  on  the  card,  and  you  will  dine  with 
me." 

"I  thank  you,"  said  the  young  man,  simply. 
"  If  such  a  thing  were  possible — "  He  stopped 
and  shook  his  head. 

"Nonsense!"  said  Indiman,  bluffly.  "You 
must  believe  in  yourself,  man;  it  is  the  first 
requisite  for  success.  To-morrow  evening  at 
eight,  then." 

Sitting  over  a  final  cigar  in  Indiman's  library, 
he  made  me  a  sharer  in  the  mystery.  "It  is 
simply  that  the  canal  treaty  will  be  reported 
unfavorably  to-morrow  by  the  committee,  and 
consequently  it  will  fail  to  pass  the  Senate. 
How  do  I  know?  I  heard  it  from  Senator 
Morrison's  own  lips." 

"Well?" 

183 


The    Gates   of    Chance 

"As  you  know,  the  dining-hall  of  the  Utinam 
Club  is  of  a  circular  shape,  and  it  happens  to 
possess  certain  peculiar  acoustic  properties. 
In  other  words,  it  is  a  whispering-gallery,  and 
it  so  chanced  that  Senator  Morrison  sat  at  one 
of  the  definite  points  —  they  call  them  vocal 
foci,  I  think — and  I  at  the  other.  That  is  .the 
whole  story." 

"You  are  quite  sure — there  can  be  no  mis- 
take?" 

"  Not  the  slightest  doubt.  The  man  with 
Morrison  is  a  broker,  and  he  has  the  Senator's 
order  to  sell  ten  thousand  Panama  common  at 
the  market  to-morrow.  When  the  news  of  the 
treaty's  failure  to  pass  reaches  Wall  Street,  by 
the  regular  channels,  the  stock  will  break  sharp- 
ly and  the  profits  on  the  deal  should  be  enor- 
mous. No  wonder  that  Senator  Morrison's 
flying  trip  to  New  York  should  be  worth  the 
taking." 

"And  Harding?" 

"  It  remains  to  be  proven  whether  the  fault 
lies  in  the  man  himself  or  in  his  alleged  bad 
luck.  I  am  sending  him  the  bare  fact  as  to 
the  canal  bill's  fate,  and  it  is  for  him  to  seize 
the  skirts  of  chance.  I'll  write  the  note  now 
184 


The   Tip-top    Tip 

and  deliver  it  at  the  office  myself  in  the  morn- 
ing. Then  we  will  see." 

"We  will  see,"  I  echoed,  and  we  parted  for 
the  night. 

At  one  o'clock  the  following  afternoon  In- 
diman  and  I  stood  watching  the  ticker  in  an 
up-town  broker's  office. 

"The  Senate  rejects  the  canal  treaty,"  read 
out  Indiman.  "Now  for  the  next  quotation 
of  Panama  common;  the  last  sale  was  at 
70^.  Will  you  take  the  tape,  Mr.  Barnes?" 

There  was  an  instant's  pause  in  the  click- 
click  of  the  instrument,  the  heart-gripping 
lull  before  the  breaking  of  the  tempest.  Then 
the  wheels  began  to  revolve  again,  and  the 
white  tape,  our  modern  thread  of  the  Norns, 
sped  through  the  twitching  fingers  of  the  young 
chap  to  whom  Indiman  had  yielded  place. 

"  Five  hundred  Pan.  com.,  68,"  he  read  out. 
"One  thousand,  67^;  four  hundred,  67;  two 
thousand,  65.  I  guess  I've  seen  enough,  gen- 
tlemen; it's  my  —  my  finish."  He  gulped 
down  something  in  his  throat  and  walked  over 
to  the  water-cooler. 

"And  enough  for  us,"  whispered  Indiman. 
"Let  us  go." 


The    Gates    of   Chance 

"  It's  the  way  of  the  world,"  I  philosophized 
as  we  gained  the  street.  "One  man  up  and 
another  down.  He  is  young ;  he  will  have  his 
chance  again." 

"It  is  Harding's  day,"  said  Indiman. 

Panama  common  had  closed  at  50,  a  drop 
of  twenty  points;  there  was  a  fortune  to  be 
made  in  selling  even  a  few  thousand  shares 
short  of  the  market.  It  was  Harding's  day, 
indeed. 

Eight  o'clock  and  Indiman  and  I  sat  await- 
ing his  coming.  The  electric  bell  rang  sharply, 
and  Bolder  ushered  in  our  prot6ge\  He  came 
forward,  shook  hands,  accepted  a  cigar,  and 
sat  down. 

"You  received  my  note?"  said  Indiman. 

"Yes." 

"What  did  you  do?" 

"I  bought  five  thousand  Pan.  com.  at  70." 

"Oh,  the  deuce!"  and  Indiman  stared 
blankly  at  his  guest. 

"You  see,  it's  no  use — "  began  the  young 
man,  apologetically,  but  Indiman  cut  him  short. 

"No  use!     And  with  my  message  in  your 
hand   before    the    market   opened  —  the   ex- 
clusive, the  absolute  information — " 
1 86 


The    Tip-top    Tip 

"  Here  it  is,"  said  Mr.  Harding,  and  handed 
Indiman  his  own  note.  The  latter  glanced  at 
the  contents,  and  suddenly  his  face  changed. 

"Read  that,  Thorp,"  he  said,  and  tossed 
me  the  message.  The  letter  contained  these 
words : 

"  The  canal  treaty  will  pass  the  Senate.  Use  your 
own  judgment." 

"In  some  inexplicable  absence  of  mind  I 
left  out  the  all-important  'not,'"  said  Indi- 
man, ruefully,  "and  it  has  cost  me  one  hun- 
dred thousand  dollars.  Mr.  Harding,  I  beg 
your  pardon.  You  are  the  unluckiest  man 
alive,"  and  he  went  on  to  tell  him  of  the 
whispering-gallery  and  of  the  secret  obtained 
in  manner  so  extraordinary.  "And  then, 
through  my  stupidity,  worse  than  wasted," 
he  concluded.  "  I  can't  understand  it;  I  read 
that  note  through  twice  before  I  sealed  it  up. 
It  is  incredible." 

"No,  it  is  my  luck,"  said  young  Mr.  Hard- 
ing, and  took  a  fresh  cigar.  "  Or,  rather,  your 
luck,"  he  corrected  himself,  smilingly.  "  Have 
you  forgotten  that  I  am  now  your  property?" 

"God  forbid!"  said  Indiman,  hastily.  "I 
187 


The    Gates   of   Chance 

give  you  back  yourself — consideration  of  one 
dollar.  You're  a  witness,  Thorp.  And  now 
shall  we  go  in  to  dinner?" 

A  position  in  a  wholesale  business  house  was 
secured  for  young  Mr.  Harding,  and  for  a  month 
or  two  he  seemed  to  be  doing  very  well.  Then 
one  day  he  resigned;  a  letter  to  Indiman  gave 
the  explanation. 

"He's  going  to  marry  a  wealthy  widow," 
read  out  Indiman.  "They  sail  on  the  Lucania 
next  Saturday." 

"Then  luck  has  turned  for  him,"  I  said, 
heartily.  "I'm  glad  of  it." 

"Hym!"  said  Indiman.     "Perhaps  so." 

From  the  street  came  the  sound  of  a  hand- 
organ.  It  was  playing  Verdi's  "  Celeste  Aida," 
and  so  lovely  is  the  aria  that  I  could  have  listened 
to  it  with  pleasure,  even  when  thus  ground  out 
mechanically.  But,  unfortunately,  an  atrocious 
mistake  had  been  made  in  the  preparation  of 
the  music  cylinder.  In  .the  original  the  final 
note  of  the  first  two  bars  is  F  natural,  while  in 
the  third  bar  the  tonality  is  raised  and  the  F 
becomes  F  sharp.  The  transcriber  had  failed 
188 


The    Tip-top    Tip 

to  make  this  change,  and  so  had  lost  the  up- 
lifting effect  of  the  sharped  F.  All  the  life  and 
color  of  the  phrase  had  been  destroyed,  and  the 
result  was  intolerable. 

I  fished  out  a  quarter  and  rang  for  Bolder. 
"Send  him  away,"  I  said,  somewhat  impa- 
tiently. 

The  servant  returned  looking  puzzled.  "The 
organ-grinder  said  I  was  to  give  this  to  the 
gentleman,"  he  said,  and  handed  me  a  small 
object.  It  was  a  brass  baggage-check  issued 
by  the  New  York  Central  Railway,  from  Cleve- 
land to  New  York,  and  bore  the  number  18329. 
I  passed  it  to  Indiman,  ran  to  the  window,  and 
looked  out.  But  the  organ-grinder  was  gone. 


IX 
The    Brass    Baggage-Check 

is  not  every  day  in  the  week  that  a 
hand-organ  plays  "Celeste  Aida" 
under  one's  window  with  an  F  natural 
in  the  third  bar  where  the  music 
rightfully  calls  for  F  sharp.  Nor  is 
it  usual  to  send  out  a  quarter  of  a  dol- 
lar to  the  man  as  an  inducement  for  him  to 
retire,  and  then  to  receive  in  return  a  New 
York  Central  baggage-check  numbered  18329, 
and  reading  from  Cleveland  to  New  York. 
Esper  Indiman  and  I  exchanged  smiles. 

"This  looks  like  the  real  thing,"  said  my 
friend.  "  My  dear  Thorp,  there  must  be  some 
rare  element  in  your  chemical  make-up  that 
serves  to  precipitate  these  delightful  mysteries. 
Adventures  fairly  flock  about  us.  We  shall  have 
to  screen  the  doors  and  windows  or  be  over- 
whelmed. Seriously,  I  am  infinitely  obliged  to 
190 


The    Brass    Baggage-Check 

you,  for  I  had  started  on  my  eleventh  game  of 
solitaire,  and  was  beginning  to  feel  a  trifle 
bored.  But  now — now  there  is  something  do- 
ing, as  Mr.  Devery  would  remark.  Let  us 
start  the  ball  rolling  by  giving  Bolder  the  third 
degree." 

Bolder,  recalled,  was  disposed  to  be  cheer- 
fully communicable.  Certainly  he  would  know 
the  man  again ;  he  had  a  good  look  at  him.  The 
sun  was  shining  brightly,  and  it  had  fallen  full 
on  the  fellow's  face. 

"Describe  him,  then,"  said  Indiman,  note- 
book in  hand. 

Put  to  the  test,  Bolder  was  not  so  good  a 
witness  as  we  had  hoped  for ;  he  wandered  and 
grew  confused  in  his  statements.  Light  hair? 
Yes,  it  might  have  been  that — though,  now  that 
he  thought  of  it,  the  shade  was  rather  on  the 
darkish  order.  An  old  man?  Well,  not  no- 
ticeably so;  perhaps  thirty -five  or  a  little 
younger. 

"Or  a  little  older— say  fifty-five?" 

"Well,  it  might  have  been  fifty-five,  sir.  I 
couldn't  swear  to  it  exactly." 

"That  will  do,  Bolder,"  said  Indiman,  and 
our  witness  retired  abashed. 
191 


The    Gates  of   Chance 

"Check  number  one,"  commented  Indiman. 
"  Suppose  we  try  the  Grand  Central  now.  We 
won't  take  out  the  carriage ;  the  day  is  fine  and 
I  want  the  walk." 

It  was  a  beautiful  morning  in  August,  cool 
and  clear,  and  we  strode  along  briskly.  A 
hand-organ  began  playing  in  a  side  street,  and 
we  stopped  to  listen.  "  It's  the  same  aria,"  I 
said,  excitedly — "'Celeste  Aida.'  What  tre- 
mendous luck!  No,  it  isn't;  deuce  take  it!"  I 
went  on,  dejectedly. 

"But  you  just  said  it  was  the  same,"  per- 
sisted Indiman. 

"With  a  difference,"  I  hastened  to  explain. 
Now,  Indiman  is  not  musical,  and  I  had  some 
trouble  in  convincing  him  that  within  the 
compass  of  a  semitone  a  veritable  gulf  may 
yawn.  This  particular  organ  played  the  phrase 
in  the  third  bar  correctly — F  sharp  and  not  F 
natural — and  consequently  it  could  not  be  the 
same  instrument  that  had  vexed  my  ears  half 
an  hour  ago  at  No.  4020  Madison  Avenue. 

"There  is  a  real  difference,  then?"  said  Indi- 
man, thoughtfully.  "  One  that  you  would  rec- 
ognize again?" 

"At  any  place  or  time,"  I  answered,  con- 
192 


The    Brass    Baggage-Check 

fidently.  "It  is  an  absolute  means  of  identifi- 
cation, quite  as  much  so  as  a  glass  eye  would 
be  in  a  man's  face." 

"Very  good.  We'll  find  that  hand -organ, 
then,  if  we  have  to  go  through  '  Little  Italy ' 
with  a  drag-net.  How  beautifully  the  prob- 
lem is  working  out! — almost  too  beautifully." 

At  the  incoming  baggage-room  Indiman  pre- 
sented the  check  numbered  18329.  A  porter 
appeared  with  a  large  trunk  loaded  on  a  truck. 
"City  transfer?"  he  asked. 

"No,  I'll  take  it  with  me,"  said  Indiman. 
"Thorp,  will  you  get  a  hack." 

We  were  about  to  drive  off,  and  I  felt  for  my 
match-box.  Provoking!  I  must  have  left  it 
at  home,  and  I  wanted  a  cigarette.  "  One  mo- 
ment," I  called,  and  jumped  out,  having  caught 
sight  of  Ellison,  who  had  been  with  me  in  college. 
He  was  hurrying  into  the  station.  I  should  be 
glad  to  have  a  word  with  him  and  secure  a 
match  at  the  same  time.  But  somehow  I 
missed  him  in  making  my  way  through  the 
swinging  doors.  Ellison  was  nowhere  to  be 
seen,  and  I  had  to  content  myself  with  getting 
a  light  at  the  cigar  counter.  I  went  back  to 
the  carriage  and  climbed  in. 

13  193 


The    Gates   of   Chance 

"It  was  Ellison,"  I  explained.  "A  good 
chap,  and  I  should  have  liked  to  meet  him." 

"Some  other  time,  perhaps,"  said  Indiman, 
politely,  and  we  drove  off. 

"  So  you've  got  it,"  I  said,  staring  up  at  the 
trunk  that  occupied  the  box  at  the  hackman's 
left.  "It  looks  ordinary  enough." 

"  The  porter  told  me  that  it  came  in  last  night 
on  the  Lake  Shore  Limited,"  said  Indiman. 
"Nothing  remarkable  about  that,  either." 

A  sudden  thought  struck  me.  "By  Jove! 
we're  no  better  than  thieves,"  I  said,  frown- 
ingly.  "The  possession  of  a  baggage-check 
doesn't  necessarily  carry  with  it  the  ownership 
of  the  parcel  for  which  it  calls.  The  rightful 
proprietor  may  be  even  now  at  the  Grand 
Central  explaining  the  loss  of  the  check  and 
trying  to  identify  his  property." 

Indiman  looked  a  little  blank.  "Of  course, 
your  obvious  theory  may  be  the  true  one,"  he 
said,  slowly.  "The  hunting  of  mare's-nests 
is  a  weakness  of  mine.  But  what  are  you 
about  there?" 

"Telling  the  driver  to  take  us  back  to  the 
station,"  I  answered,  with  my  hand  on  the 
check-cord. 

194 


The    Brass    Baggage-Check 

"  I  don't  know  about  doing  that — just  now. 
There  might  be  some  awkward  explanations 
to  make  to  your  hypothetical  owner.  Or,  fail- 
ing him,  to  the  police." 

"  It  doesn't  absolutely  follow,"  he  continued, 
"  that  there  is  an  owner  or  that  he  is  anxious  to 
claim  and  recover  his  property.  He  may  have 
substantial  reasons  for  wanting  to  get  rid  of  it. 
Remember  that  the  baggage-check  was  handed 
in  at  my  door  with  the  express  direction  that 
it  was  to  be  given  to  the  gentleman  of  the 
house.  We'll  have  to  see  it  through,  I  think." 

I  had  nothing  more  to  say,  and  shortly  after- 
wards we  pulled  up  at  No.  4020  Madison  Ave- 
nue. Bolder  and  the  hackman  carried  the 
trunk  in,  and  Indiman  directed  that  it  should 
be  placed  in  the  library,  the  front  room  on  the 
first  landing.  The  cabman  was  paid  and  dis- 
missed, and  we  were  left  alone. 

"  Now  for  it,"  said  Indiman,  gayly.  "  I  have 
always  preferred  mutton  to  lamb." 

The  trunk  was  of  the  cheap  variety,  covered 
with  brown  paper  that  vaguely  simulated 
leather.  It  was  perfectly  new,  and  this  was 
probably  its  first  trip  on  the  road.  The  lock 
was  of  simple  construction.  It  should  be  easy 
195 


The    Gates    of    Chance 

to  find  a  key  to  fit  it,  and  one  of  mine,  with  a 
little  filing,  did  the  trick.  The  bolt  shot  back, 
and  Indiman  unhesitatingly  threw  up  the  lid. 

There  was  no  tray  in  the  trunk,  and  the  in- 
terior space  was  filled  with  some  bulky  article 
that  had  been  carefully  shrouded  by  manifold 
layers  of  cloth  wrappings.  I  know  that*  the 
same  thought  was  in  both  our  minds,  but 
neither  of  us  spoke.  A  keen-bladed  ink-eraser 
lay  on  the  desk  before  me,  and  I  handed  it 
to  Indiman.  He  made  a  swift  cut  in  the 
wrappings  and  drew  the  severed  edges  apart — a 
naked  human  foot  protruded.  To  this  hour  I 
have  only  to  shut  my  eyes  to  immediately  re- 
call that  horrid  vision.  I  remember  particular- 
ly the  purplish  hue  of  the  swollen  veins,  the  un- 
mistakable rigidity  of  the  joints  and  muscles. 

Indiman  shut  down  the  lid  and  turned  the 
key  in  the  lock.  We  looked,  white-faced,  one  at 
the  other,  then  at  the  maid-servant  who  stood 
not  ten  feet  away.  Had  she  been  any  nearer? 

"What  is  it,  Mary?"  said  Indiman,  sharply. 

The  girl,  confused  and  stammering,  explained 

that  she  had  come  in  to  sweep ;  she  had  no  idea 

that  Mr.  Indiman  was  in  the  library.     No,  the 

door  was  not  locked,  and   she  had  just  that 

196 


The    Brass    Baggage-Check 

moment  walked  in.  Indiman  cut  short  her 
apologies,  and,  with  a  tolerable  assumption  of 
indifference,  dismissed  her  to  her  duties  else- 
where. 

"Unfortunate,"  he  remarked,  with  a  frown. 

"I  doubt  if  she  could  have  seen  anything," 
I  answered,  reassuringly.  "  I  should  have  heard 
her  if  she  had  come  any  nearer,  and  the  trunk 
was  only  open  for  a  second  or  two." 

"  Quite  long  enough  for  anything  to  happen," 
said  Indiman.  "  I  say,  Thorp,  but  this  is  a  go," 
he  went  on,  cockily  enough.  Then  suddenly 
the  steadiness  went  out  of  his  voice,  like  a 
match-light  in  a  high  wind,  and  he  finished 
with  a  little,  choking  gasp,  "Just  the  very — 
rummest  go." 

I  don't  remember  that  we  had  a  drink  on 
the  strength  of  it,  but  it's  more  than  probable. 
Then  we  sat  down  to  consider. 

The  natural,  the  obvious,  and  the  only  proper 
course  of  action  was  to  go  at  once  to  Police 
Headquarters  and  make  a  frank  statement  of 
the  case  with  its  attendant  circumstances. 
True,  we  were  undistinguished  citizens,  with 
neither  pull  nor  influence,  but  surely  respec- 
tability must  count  for  something,  even  as 
197 


The   Gates   of   Chance 

against  charges  of  admitted  theft  and  suspect- 
ed murder.  If  we  owned  up  now  we  should  be 
subjected,  doubtless,  to  more  or  less  annoyance 
growing  out  of  the  affair,  but  the  position 
would  be  infinitely  less  difficult  than  if  we 
waited  for  events  to  force  it  upon  us.  "  Mur- 
der will  out,"  I  quoted. 

"So  they  say,"  answered  Indiman,  and 
stared  thoughtfully  at  the  ceiling. 

And  yet  in  the  end  we  abandoned  this  emi- 
nently sane  conclusion,  deciding  that  we  would 
keep  our  own  counsel  and  let  the  matter  work 
itself  out.  For  such  a  crime  as  murder  does  not 
end  with  the  actual  deed ;  the  rupturing  of  the 
thousand  and  one  ties  that  bind  even  the  most 
insignificant  of  lives  to  the  general  body  of 
human  existence  cannot  be  accomplished  with- 
out some  disturbance;  a  circle  has  myriad 
points,  and  at  any  one  of  them  the  interrupted 
current  may  again  begin  to  flow.  Perchance 
the  message  falls  upon  indifferent  ears  or  is  too 
feeble  and  incoherent  in  itself  to  compel  at- 
tention. In  this  event  the  signals  must  neces- 
sarily grow  weaker  and  more  infrequent  until 
they  finally  cease  altogether — the  crime  is  now 
an  accomplished  fact,  the  chapter  is  finally 
198 


The    Brass    Baggage-Chech 

closed.  Or,  again,  the  call  may  come  as  plan- 
gent and  insistent  as  the  stroke  of  a  fire-alarm ; 
the  whole  community  hears  and  instantly  un- 
derstands; the  murder  is  out. 

Now  either  of  us  could  presume  to  measure 
the  precise  quality  of  odic  force  inherent  in  the 
grisly  mystery  that  lay  under  our  hand;  the 
affair  might  range  from  the  dignity  of  a  cause 
celebre  to  the  commonplace  of  a  purely  com- 
mercial transaction — the  economical  transpor- 
tation of  a  medical  college  "subject."  It  was 
this  very  uncertainty  that  fascinated  our  im- 
aginations and  so  allowed  the  sober  judgment 
to  be  deposed.  Our  ostensible  argument  was 
that  the  police  would  be  sure  to  make  a  mess 
of  the  affair.  If  that  idiot,  Detective  Brownson, 
took  hold  of  it,  the  goddess  Justice  might  throw 
up  her  hands  as  well  as  close  her  eyes.  And 
inwardly  we  desired  to  cherish  our  secret  out  of 
the  same  sense  of  fearful  joy  with  which  one 
listens  to  a  ghost  story — we  had  tasted  the  coal- 
black  wine  pressed  from  forbidden  grapes,  and 
we  craved  a  yet  deeper  draught.  Finally,  a 
connoisseur  does  not  willingly  relinquish  a  good 
find,  whatever  the  circumstances ;  there  are  bib- 
liomaniacs who  will  not  hesitate  to  steal  wha.t 
199 


The    Gates    of    Chance 

they  may  not  otherwise  procure.  I  myself 
know  a  charming  woman  who  collects  Japanese 
sword-guards  at  any  cost  (I  have  her  husband's 
authority  for  this  statement). 

But,  seriously  again,  the  grip  of  the  mystery 
was  upon  us;  the  inclination  had  become  irre- 
sistible to  see  the  thing  out,  or  at  least  to  let  it 
run  a  little  further,  just  as  a  child  amuses  itself 
with  fire — the  desire  to  see  what  will  happen. 
Later  on  it  might  be  necessary  to  pull  up 
sharply,  but  the  contingency  would  doubtless 
provide  for  itself.  The  ultimate  fact  remained 
that  here  was  a  genuine  adventure,  and  as  con- 
noisseurs of  romance  we  were  bound  to  exploit 
it  to  the  utmost  limit  of  our  ability.  So  be  it, 
then. 

"The  finding  of  that  organ-grinder  is  our 
first  and  obvious  procedure,"  said  Indiman, 
slowly.  "And  the  clew  to  his  identity  lies,  as 
you  have  explained,  in  his  instrument." 

"The  organ  itself  is  a  criminal;  it  murders 
'Celeste  Aida. '" 

"I  believe  that  most  of  these  instruments 
are  rented  from  one  company,"  continued  In- 
diman. "We  can  find  out  definitely  at  the 
city  License  Bureau,  and  we  might  as  well  make 
200 


The    Brass    Baggage-Chech 

that  the  starting-point  of  our  investigations. 
We  have  plenty  of  time  before  luncheon;  it  is 
barely  twelve  o'clock." 

"  But  shouldn't  we  begin  with — with  the 
thing  itself,"  I  objected,  and  glanced  nervously 
at  the  big  trunk  standing  in  the  middle  of  the 
floor.  The  identity  of  the  victim — it  may  be 
possible  to  establish  it — a  most  important 
point,  surely." 

"  I'll  have  to  pass  up  that  part  of  it — at  least 
for  the  present,"  said  Indiman,  frankly.  "  But 
we  must  get  the  box  out  of  sight  somewhere. 
The  weather" — and  here  he  gave  a  little  invol- 
untary shudder  —  "is  getting  warmer.  We'd 
better  get  it  down  into  the  cellar.  I'll  see  if 
the  way  is  clear." 

The  servants  were  all  busy  in  the  upper  part 
of  the  house,  and  we  succeeded  in  getting  the 
trunk  down  into  the  cellar  unobserved,  stowing 
it  away  temporarily  in  an  empty  coal-bin.  On 
our  way  up-stairs  we  encountered  the  maid, 
Mary,  and  something  in  the  hasty  way  in  which 
she  stood  back  to  let  us  pass  stirred  again  my 
vague  suspicions.  But  there  was  nothing  to 
say  or  do ;  we  must  trust  to  luck. 

Then  there  was  no  difficulty  in  finding  the 
201 


The    Gates   of    Chance 

office  of  the  company  that  leases  hand-organs 
to  itinerant  musicians,  and  the  manager,  an 
Americanized  Italian,  was  most  courteous  in 
answering  our  inquiries.  It  appeared  that  this 
particular  aria  of  "Celeste  Aida"  was  only  in- 
cluded in  the  repertoire  of  some  half -dozen  of 
the  older  instruments.  It  chanced  that  they 
were  all  in  stock  at  the  present  time,  and  it 
would  be  no  trouble  at  all  to  let  us  hear  them 
play.  "Our  incomparable  maestro — he  is  no 
longer  remembered,"  said  the  manager,  mourn- 
fully. "The  public — now  it  is  that  they  de- 
mand what  you  calla  hot  stuff — '  Loosianner 
Loo'  and  the  'Lobster  Intermezzo.'  Per  Bac- 
co !  if  they  would  but  open  their  ears — la — la — 
there  it  goes — 

" '  Ce-le-ste  A-i-da, 
For-ma  di-vi-na' — 

Ah,  gentlemen,  that  is  musica." 

An  amiable  person,  but  we  were  wasting 
both  his  and  our  time.  Each  one  of  the  six 
organs  reproduced  the  original  notation  of  the 
aria,  and  the  imperfect  instrument  must  there- 
fore be  in  private  hands.  So  we  returned  thanks 
to  Mr.  Gualdo  Sarto  for  his  courtesy,  and  went 
303 


The    Brass    Baggage-Chech 

away  somewhat  disheartened.     Haystacks  are 
large  places  and  needles  small  objects. 

Two  days  went  by  —  days  spent  in  aimless 
wandering  about  the  streets  waiting  for  a  dis- 
tant hand-organ  to  give  tongue.  Then  a  hot 
chase,  only  to  draw  another  blank. 

On  the  third  day  I  came  home  alone  about 
five  o'clock.  The  weather  was  really  hot 
again,  and  I  was  tired  out  with  tramping.  Yet 
a  little  chill  ran  down  my  spine  as  I  happened 
to  glance  across  the  street  and  caught  sight  of 
a  man's  face  in  an  areaway.  He  had  been 
watching  me;  of  that  I  was  certain. 

I  went  up  to  the  library  and  sat  there  waiting 
for  Indiman.  The  man  in  the  areaway  waited 
also. 

At  half  after  six  Indiman  appeared.  He, 
too,  had  been  unsuccessful;  I  could  see  it  in  his 
face  before  he  spoke.  I  told  him  of  the  sus- 
picious loiterer  across  the  street.  Together  we 
kept  close  watch  on  the  areaway,  and  after  a 
while  the  fellow  came  out  and  strolled  off  with 
what  was  intended  to  pass  as  jaunty  indiffer- 
ence. But  we  were  not  deceived. 

"That  fool  of  a  girl  has  talked,"  said  Indi- 
man. 

203 


The    Gates    of    Chance 

"  Looks  like  it." 

"See  here,  Thorp,  that  thing  in  the  cellar — 
we'll  have  to  do  something  at  once." 

I  nodded. 

"The  flooring  in  the  coal-bin  is  brick;  it 
won't  be  difficult  to  take  up  a  section  large 
enough  for — 

I  nodded  again. 

I  sha'n't  forget  what  we  did  that  night  — 
the  stealing  down  into  the  echoing  cellar — the 
flickering  of  the  candle-light  on  the  white- 
washed walls — the  sound  of  the  spade  clinking 
against  a  casual  stone. 

How  we  worked !  Like  slaves  under  the 
lash — an  actual  lash  of  terror.  For  we  were 
afraid,  frankly  and  honestly  afraid,  of  what  we 
had  done  and  of  what  we  were  doing.  I  know 
that  the  sweat  fairly  poured  off  me.  My  word! 
but  it  was  hot,  and  there  was  a  fearful  signifi- 
cance in  the  thought  that  urged  us  on  to  even 
greater  exertions. 

It  had  to  be  done,  and  at  last  it  was,  the 
bricks  neatly  replaced  and  the  surplus  earth 
packed  away  in  gunny-sacks  to  be  removed  at 
the  first  favorable  opportunity.  Then  in  the 
gray  dawn  we  drew  ourselves  wearily  up-stairs, 
204 


The    Brass    Baggage-Check 

and,  separating  without  a  word,  went  to  our 
rooms.  Was  it  pure,  malignant  chance  that 
the  maid,  Mary,  passed  me  on  her  way  down- 
stairs and  glanced,  with  a  curious,  shrinking 
repugnance,  at  my  earth-stained  and  dusty 
clothes  ?  I  did  not  care ;  I  was  dog-tired  and  I 
wanted  but  one  thing — bed.  I  reached  my 
couch,  fell  sprawling  upon  it,  and  slept  for 
seven  hours  straight. 

It  was  a  relief  to  awake  from  the  phantas- 
magoria of  horrors  that  crowded  my  dreams. 
It  was  nearly  two  o'clock,  and  I  had  written  to 
my  friend  Ellison  asking  him  to  luncheon  at  that 
hour.  The  meal  was  rather  a  silent  one  for 
two  of  us,  but  Ellison  talked  incessantly.  He 
was  in  high  spirits,  having  just  been  appointed 
to  a  university  professorship  in  physiology — 
his  specialty.  "I've  been  busy  getting  my 
lecture  material  together,"  he  explained,  and  "  I 
had  a  beastly  piece  of  bad  luck  the  other  day. 
My  own  fault,  I  suppose,  but  it  illustrates  the 
point  that  our  American  baggage  system  is  still 
far  from  perfection.  Now  the  European  idea — " 

"  Shall  we  go  into  the  library  for  coffee,"  said 
Indiman,  a  little  abruptly,  and  I  could  see  that 
Ellison's  chatter  was  beginning  to  get  on  his 
205 


The    Gates    of    Chance 

nerves;  my  own  were  vibrating  like  harp- 
strings.  I  walked  over  to  one  of  the  library 
windows  and  looked  out,  just  in  time  to  catch 
sight  of  a  man  backing  quickly  into  the  shadow 
of  the  areaway  opposite. 

From  down  the  street  came  the  sound  of  a 
childish  voice  singing.  Great  Heavens!  It 
was  Verdi's  aria  "Celeste  Aida,"  with  F  nat- 
ural in  the  third  bar  instead  of  F  sharp. 

"  I  am  going  out  for  a  few  minutes,"  I  said, 
carelessly.  "Just  around  the  corner  to  get  a 
special-delivery  stamp.  Of  course  you'll  wait, 
Ellison,"  and  I  gave  Indiman  a  quick  glance. 
He  understood. 

Perhaps  I  was  shadowed  by  the  watchers  in 
the  areaway.  I  neither  knew  nor  cared.  My 
one  idea  was  to  catch  up  with  the  child,  and 
this  time  luck  was  with  me. 

The  little  girl  acknowledged  shyly  that  she 
had  learned  the  tune  from  a  hand-organ.  "  It 
belongs  to  my  uncle  Bartolomeo,"  she  ex- 
plained, proudly.  "  It  is  a  good  organ,  signore. 
There  are  little  figures  of  men  and  women  under 
the  glass  front,  and  when  the  musica  plays  they 
dance — so." 

Uncle  Bartolomeo  was  fortunately  at  home, 
?p6 


The    Brass    Baggage-Check 

and  I  persuaded  him  to  accompany  me  back 
to  4020  Madison  Avenue.  He  spoke  English 
perfectly,  and  looked  both  honest  and  shrewd. 
Well,  we  would  find  some  way  of  getting  the 
truth  out  of  him. 

A  police-officer  opened  the  door  for  me.  So 
the  blow  had  fallen  already.  I  went  on  up  to 
the  library,  taking  Bartolomeo  with  me.  At 
the  door  I  waited  a  moment. 

Brownson  sat  at  the  long  table,  the  picture 
of  the  zealous  and  efficient  guardian  of  public 
safety.  The  maid-servant,  Mary,  had  just  been 
interrogated — of  course,  it  was  she  who  had 
betrayed  us,  and  Brownson  was  evidently  her 
young  man.  What  infernal  luck! 

"  Now,  Mr  Indiman — "  said  Brownson,  stern- 
ly, "but  be  careful  what  you  say;  it  may  be 
used  against  you." 

Indiman  told  the  whole  story  without  reserve, 
and  Brownson  listened  with  cold  incredulity. 
But  Ellison  seemed  interested. 

"A  baggage-check  handed  in  at  the  door," 
commented  the  detective,  with  judicial  im- 
passivity. "Where  is  this  organ-grinder?" 

"Here,"  I  answered,  and  entered  with  Uncle 
Bartolomeo. 

207 


The    Gates    of    Chance 

But  the  examination,  severe  as  it  was,  re- 
vealed only  the  bare  fact  that  Bartolomeo  had 
found  the  brass  baggage-check  lying  on  the 
sidewalk  in  front  of  No.  4020  Madison  Avenue. 
He  was  an  honest  man,  and,  moreover,  the 
acticle  was  of  no  use  to  him.  He  had  given  it 
to  the  servant  at  the  door  to  be  handed  'over 
to  the  gentleman  of  the  house.  That  was  all 
he  knew.  By  the  Holy  Virgin,  he  had  spoken 
the  truth! 

Brownson  rang  the  call-bell.  "Bring  in  the 
trunk,"  he  said,  curtly,  and  forthwith  two 
policemen  appeared  with  the  fatal  box,  just  as 
it  had  been  exhumed  from  its  resting-place  in 
the  coal-bin.  "Hullo!"  blurted  out  Ellison, 
in  vast  surprise,  and  somehow  my  sinking 
spirits  revived  with  the  word. 

"Who  is  this  gentleman?"  demanded  Brown- 
son,  frowning  at  the  interruption. 

"Dr.  Ellison,"  I  answered. 

"Medicine?" 

"Yes." 

"Hum,"  said  Brownson,  importantly.  "I 
will  ask  him  to  kindly  take  charge — 

"I  should  think  so,"  broke  in  Ellison,  cheer- 
fully, "seeing  that  it's  my  own  property.  I 
208 


The    Brass    Baggage-Check 

lost  baggage-check  No.  18329,  from  Cleveland 
to  New  York,  the  night  of  my  arrival  in  town, 
and  somewhere  in  this  very  neighborhood.  The 
next  morning  I  went  to  the  Grand  Central  to 
prove  my  ownership,  but  the  trunk  had  been 
claimed  and  carried  away." 

"You  are  aware,  Dr.  Ellison,"  said  Brown- 
son,  "that  this  trunk  contains — well,  we  all 
know  what." 

"Oh,  do  we!"  retorted  Ellison,  smartly. 
"Just  stand  back  there."  He  took  a  key  from 
his  pocket  and  unlocked  the  trunk.  An  irresist- 
ible curiosity  drew  us  forward  again.  Ellison 
seized  the  wrapping  and  jerked  it  forcibly  apart. 
I  turned  my  eyes  away,  and  Mary  screamed  out- 
right. 

"Did  you  never  see  an  anatomical  manikin 
before?"  asked  Ellison,  scornfully.  "Made  out 
of  papier-mache,  you  know,  and  used  for  demon- 
strations in  physiology  before  college  classes. 
They  used  to  come  from  Paris,  but  they're 
making  them  in  Cleveland  now,  and  better  than 
the  French  ones.  I  tell  you  I'm  mighty  glad  to 
get  my  '  old  man '  back ;  he's  just  out  of  the 
shop  and  cost  me  a  hundred -dollar  bill." 

Mr.  Detective  Brownson  walked  over  to  the 
u  209 


The    Gates    of    Chance 

trunk,  gazed  intently  at  the  manikin,  and  gin- 
gerly poked  it  once  or  twice  in  the  ribs.  He 
turned  red  and  swallowed  at  something  in  his 
throat. 

"  So  you  wish  to  make  a  charge  against  these 
gentlemen?"  he  asked,  with  almost  a  note  of 
appeal  in  his  voice. 

"  Not  I,"  answered  Ellison,  cheerfully.  "  It's 
all  between  friends,  and  they  can  settle  the 
matter  with  me  over  a  petit  souper  at  Del- 
monico's.  Good-day,  officer." 

How  quickly  the  echoes  of  the  strenuous  life 
die  away.  After  the  storm  and  stress  of  those 
dreadful  four  days  one  would  suppose  that 
peace  at  any  price  were  the  one  thing  worth 
while.  And  for  a  month  or  more  we  were  quite 
content  with  the  humdrum  of  ordinary  exist- 
ence. And  then  just  because  a  game  of  pa- 
tience would  not  make — 


The    Upset   Apple-Cart 


NDIMAN  was  playing  solitaire  and 
I  was  idly  looking  on.  It  so  hap- 
pened that  an  important  card,  the  ace 
of  hearts,  was  buried,  and  Indiman 
had  tried  every  legitimate  means  to 
get  it  out  without  success. 
"You  can't  do  that,"  I  said,  decidedly,  as 
Indiman  was  about  to  make  a  move.  He 
looked  up,  caught  my  eye  fixed  upon  the  game, 
and  colored  deeply.  Then  he  frowned  and 
swept  the  cards  into  a  disorganized  heap. 

"I  really  believe  that  I  was  on  the  point 
of  cheating  myself,"  he  said,  soberly.  "That 
argues  a  shameful  flabbiness  of  the  moral  fibre, 
doesn't  it ?  A  '  brace '  game  of  solitaire !  What 
a  hideous  picture  of  degeneracy!" 

"  Lay  it  on  the  weather,"  I  suggested.  "  These 
gray  November  days  with  their  depressing  at- 


The    Gates    of   Chance 

mosphere  of  finality  may  be  held  responsible 
for  anything." 

"Even  my  own  pet  extremity  —  the  upset- 
ting of  an  apple-cart.  Really,  I'm  getting  dan- 
gerously close  to  it.  Let's  go  out  for  a  walk." 

Now,  why  did  Tito  Cecco,  dealer  in  small 
fruits,  choose  this  precise  day  and  hour  to  halt 
his  barrow  at  our  corner?  Push-carts  are  not 
allowed  in  Madison  Avenue,  anyway,  and  five 
minutes  earlier  or  later  he  would  have  been 
moved  on  by  the  policeman  on  the  beat.  But 
in  that  mean  time  Esper  Indiman  and  I  had 
left  the  house.  The  cart  piled  high  with  red  and 
yellow  apples  confronted  us,  and  a  dangerous 
glint  came  into  Indiman's  eye. 

"Indiman!"  I  implored. 

Too  late!  With  the  mischievous  agility  of 
a  boy,  Indiman  seized  the  hub  of  the  near 
wheel  and  heaved  it  into  the  air.  A  little  ripple 
of  apples  swept  across  the  asphalt  roadway, 
then  a  veritable  cascade  of  the  fruit.  The  light 
push-cart  lay  bottom  up,  its  wheels  revolving 
feebly.  Tito  Cecco  had  become  incapable  of 
either  speech  or  motion.  Then  he  caught  the 
glimmer  of  the  gold  piece  in  Indiman's  fingers, 
and  grabbed  at  it  eagerly. 

212 


The    Upset    Apple-Cart 

It  is  a  poor  sort  of  catastrophe  that  does  not 
attract  the  attention  of  at  least  one  pair  of 
youthful  eyes,  and  the  vultures  are  famous  for 
their  punctuality  in  the  matter  of  invitations 
to  dinner.  Where  did  all  the  boys  come  from, 
anyway;  the  street  was  jammed  with  them, 
and  reinforcements  were  constantly  arriving. 
Tito  Cecco,  having  pouched  Indiman's  gold 
piece  and  righted  his  cart,  had  hastily  departed. 
He  had  made  a  good  thing  out  of  the  transac- 
tion, and  explanations  to  policemen  are  awk- 
ward things — always  so. 

The  pile  of  fruit  had  disappeared  with  in- 
credible swiftness,  but  the  boys  themselves  de- 
parted slowly,  as  though  reluctant  to  leave  a 
region  of  such  extraordinary  windfalls.  One 
little  chap  had  fared  particularly  well,  for 
both  his  coat -pockets  were  stuffed  and  each 
fist  grabbed  a  big  specimen  of  the  beautiful 
fruit.  A  young  fellow,  fresh-faced  and  country- 
looking,  had  been  looking  at  the  scene  from  a 
little  distance  down  the  street.  Now  he  walked 
up  and  spoke  to  the  small  boy. 

"  Give  you  a  nickel,  bub,  for  one  of  the  red 
ones.  They  look  just  like  the  apples  up  in  Saco, 
Maine.  Lord's  sakes,  how  I  wish  I  was  there!" 
213 


The    Gates    of    Chance 

The  boy  signified  his  willingness  to  make  the 
bargain,  but  he  wanted  to  give  a  sporting  color 
to  the  transaction.  "  Right  or  left?"  he  asked, 
his  hands  held  behind  his  back. 

"Left,  of  course,"  answered  the  yokel. 
"  'Ain't  I  always  been  that?" 

The  boy  handed  over  the  apple,  received*  the 
promised  nickel  in  return,  and  departed  with  a 
joyous  whoop.  The  young  countryman  held 
up  the  apple  and  looked  at  it  sentimen- 
tally. 

"Now,  what  under  the  canopy's  that!"  he 
exclaimed.  There  was  a  piece  of  paper  tightly 
twisted  about  the  stem  of  the  fruit.  He  un- 
folded it  carefully,  for  it  could  be  seen  that  it 
bore  a  written  message. 

When  a  man  with  a  complexion  like  a  new 
red  wagon  turns  pale  it  means  something. 
Indiman  and  I  stepped  up,  for  we  really  thought 
that  he  was  going  to  faint. 

"Much  obliged,  gentlemen.  I'm  all  right 
now,"  said  the  young  chap.  "But  for  the 
minute  I  was  that  struck.  Say,  gentlemen, 
you'll  think  I'm  a  liar,  but  it  was  my  own  girl, 
Miss  Mattie  Townley,  who  wrote  that  there 
letter  and  twisted  it  around  an  apple -stem. 
214 


The    Upset    Apple-Cart 

And  she  wrote  it  to  me — me,  Ben  Day.  What 
do  you  think  of  that?" 

"This  is  a  world  of  infinite  chance,"  said 
Indiman,  politely. 

"  Look  for  yourself.  I  don't  mind,  and  neither 
would  Mattie." 

Indiman  took  the  little  scrawl  of  paper  and 
I  looked  over  his  shoulder.  It  read : 

"  Ben  Day,  if  you're  not  an  altogether  born  fool, 
come  back  to  Saco,  Maine.  I  never  meant  a  word  of 
what  I  said — you  know  that.  M.  T." 

"S'pose  you'd  call  it  a  lovers'  quarrel,"  ex- 
plained Mr.  Ben  Day.  "I  just  piked  out  of 
Saco,  Maine,  like  a  bear  with  a  sore  head, 
and  come  down  here  to  New  York.  For  three 
months  I  'ain't  sent  sign  nor  sound  to  the  home 
people,  but  she  was  bound  to  catch  up  with 
me.  And,  by  jinks!  she  just  did.  Wonder 
how  many  other  Baldwin  pippins  are  taking 
the  glad  tidings  round  the  country.  I'd  give 
a  nickel  apiece  for  a  million  of  'em."  An 
actual  tear  glistened  in  the  young  fellow's  eye. 
It  was  impossible  not  to  sympathize,  and  we 
both  congratulated  him  heartily, 
215 


The    Gates    of   Chance 

"Of  course,  you're  going  back  to  Saco  at 
once?"  said  Indiman. 

"  If  I  could  get  the  five-o'clock  express  there's 
a  through  connection  up  north.  I'd  do  it, 
too" — his  voice  fell  suddenly — "only  for — " 

"Only  for  what?" 

"This,"  and  he  held  out  a  small  package 
that  he  had  been  carrying.  It  was  box-shaped 
and  neatly  wrapped  in  light-brown  paper.  The 
parcel  was  addressed  to  S.  A.  Davidge,  32 
Edgewood  Road,  Exeter,  England,  and  it  bore 
a  pasted  label  that  read,  "From  Redfield  & 
Company,  Silversmiths,  Maiden  Lane,  New 
York  City."  It  also  carried  the  label  of  the 
Oceanic  Express  Company,  marked,  "Charges 
Paid"  and  "per  S.S.  Russia"  with  the  pack- 
age number,  44,281,  in  indelible  pencil. 

"Well?"  said  Indiman,  interrogatively. 

"You  see,  I  was  in  a  scrape  on  account  of 
that  thing,  and  I  wanted  to  put  the  matter 
straight.  Up  to  ten  o'clock  this  morning  I  was 
in  the  employ  of  the  Oceanic  Express  Company 
— one  of  the  messengers,  you  know,  sir,  who  go 
out  with  the  wagons.  It  was  our  first  trip  of 
the  day,  and  we  had  a  big  load  of  small  stuff 
for  the  Russia.  When  I  had  unloaded  and 
216 


The    Upset   Apple-Cart 

checked  up  my  sheet,  No.  44,281  was  missing. 
I  went  back  to  the  office,  reported  the  loss,  and 
was  discharged  on  the  spot — they're  hard  as 
nails  on  anything  like  that.  Well,  I  went  home 
pretty  blue,  for  it's  hard  work  finding  a  job 
nowadays,  and  I  didn't  know  which  way  to 
turn.  I'd  been  keeping  bachelor  hall  with  the 
driver  of  the  wagon.  He's  a  foreigner  named 
Grenelli,  and  claims  to  be  an  Italian.  Maybe 
so,  but  he  looks  more  like  a  German,  and  he  can 
talk  half  a  dozen  languages.  I  used  to  go  with 
him  to  the  socialist  meetings  over  on  the  East 
Side,  and  the  Tower  of  Babel  isn't  in  it  with 
those  fellows. 

"An  anarchist?  Oh,  I  don't  think  so.  Liked 
to  shoot  off  his  mouth  about  the  rights  of  man, 
and  he  was  always  down  on  taxes.  But  I 
shouldn't  call  him  an  anarchist.  Why,  he  was 
the  driver  of  an  express  wagon,  and  the  two 
things  don't  jibe. 

"  I  should  have  said  that  Grenelli  had  been 
suspended  during  the  investigation  into  the 
loss,  and  of  course  we  went  home  together. 
We  talked  the  thing  over  from  end  to  end,  but 
we  couldn't  explain  the  disappearance  of  the 
package — neither  of  us.  Of  course,  it  was  me 
217 


The    Gates   of    Chance 

who  was  the  real  responsible  party  in  the  busi- 
ness, and  Grenelli,  who  naturally  wanted  to 
get  back  on  his  time,  felt  pretty  grouchy  about 
it.  Finally,  I  got  mad,  told  him  to  go  to 
blazes,  and  cleared  out  of  the  house. 

"Well,  about  an  hour  after  that  I  went 
home,  and  met  Grenelli  coming  out;  he  said 
that  he  was  going  down  to  the  company  stable. 
At  two  o'clock  he  come  back  all  out  of  breath, 
and  he  had  the  package  with  him — yes,  sir, 
that  identical  package  that  we'd  been  looking 
for.  Told  me  that  it  had  been  found  under  the 
driver's  seat  wrapped  up  in  one  of  the  horse- 
blankets.  Seems  funny,  too,  for  we  had  hunted 
through  that  wagon-body  a  dozen  times. 

" However,  that  makes  no  difference;  we  had 
the  package,  and  I  had  just  started  down-town 
to  turn  it  in  when  I  stopped  to  look  at  the  ex- 
citement here.  Lucky  for  me,  or  I'd  never  had 
a  bite  of  this  particular  red  apple,  the  sweetest 
pippin  that  orchard  ever  grew.  Excuse  me, 
gentlemen,  if  I  do  the  saphead  act — by  jinks! 
I  feel  like  it." 

"The  sentiment  does  you  honor,  Mr.  Day," 
said  Indiman,  gravely.  "You  ought  to  take 
that  five-o'clock  train." 


The    Upset    Apple-Cart 

"Wouldn't  I  like  to!"  sighed  the  enamoured 
youth.  "  But  I  can't  go  down  to  the  company 
office  in  Bowling  Green  and  get  back  in  time  to 
make  it.  It's  three  o'clock  now." 

"You  would  not  care  to  intrust  the  delivery 
of  the  package  to  me?" 

"Well,  hardly,"  was  the  frank  reply.  "You 
see,  mister,  I've  been  living  in  New  York  for 
three  months,  now,  and  I've  cut  most  of  my 
eye-teeth.  No  offence,  of  course." 

' '  Certainly  not . ' ' 

"You  look  straight  goods,  and  I  b'lieve  I'd 
run  almost  any  risk  to  catch  that  train — well, 
by  jinks !  here  comes  Grenelli  now ;  that  makes 
it  all  O.K." 

I  did  not  like  the  looks  of  the  man  who  pres- 
ently joined  us  in  response  to  Ben  Day's  hail. 
I  distrust,  on  principle,  people  with  thin,  blood- 
less lips  and  obliquely  set  eyes.  Yet  the  fellow 
spoke  pleasantly  enough,  and  he  readily  un- 
dertook to  clear  young  Day's  name  and  repu- 
tation with  his  former  employers.  The  boy 
handed  over  the  parcel  to  Grenelli,  and  then, 
as  he  turned  to  go,  begged  the  honor  of  shaking 
hands  with  Indiman  and  myself,  a  permission 
graciously  granted.  After  all,  we  had  borne 
219 


The    Gates   of!   Chance 

no  inconsiderable  share  in  the  later  develop- 
ments of  his  good-fortune.  Suppose  Indiman 
had  not  upset  the  apple-cart? 

"And  now,"  said  Indiman,  turning  to  Gre- 
nelli  and  speaking  with  great  suavity,  "  I  am 
going  to  ask  the  favor  of  a  short  interview. 
My  house  is  only  two  numbers  away." 

Grenelli  shook  his  head.  "I've  nothing  to 
say  to  you — "  he  began,  defiantly. 

Indiman  stepped  quickly  to  the  fellow's  side, 
took  his  arm  and  pressed  it  closely.  He  said 
a  few  words  in  an  undertone,  and  to  my  sur- 
prise Grenelli  instantly  submitted.  We  en- 
tered the  house  and  went  to  the  library  on  the 
first  floor  front.  Indiman  took  from  his  side 
coat-pocket  a  cocked  revolver  and  laid  it  on  the 
table.  So  that  was  the  kind  of  persuasion  that 
it  had  been  necessary  to  apply  to  secure  Mr. 
Grenelli' s  attendance.  One  is  apt  to  yield  the 
point  when  he  feels  a  pistol  -  barrel  prodding 
him  in  the  ribs,  and  it  is  no  great  trick  to  set 
a  trigger-catch  with  the  weapon  in  your  pocket. 

"  Stand  there,"  said  Indiman,  pointing  to  the 
far  end  of  the  table,  and  the  man  obeyed. 

"And  now,  Grenelli,"  continued  Indiman, 
bluntly,  "I  want  the  truth  about  this  affair. 


The    Upset   Apple-Cart 

Bah,  man!  don't  begin  to  shuffle  about  like 
that.  This  isn't  the  original  package  delivered 
by  Redfield  &  Company  to  the  Oceanic  Express 
for  shipment  to  England.  You  know  it  and  I 
know  it,  so  we'll  just  acknowledge  a  true  bill 
and  go  on  with  the  evidence. 

"A  counterfeit,  then,  of  the  real  thing.  But 
why?  That's  what  we're  after  now.  Simple 
robbery?  Or  is  there  another  reason  why  this 
particular  package  was  intended  to  be  shipped 
on  the  steamship  Russia,  sailing  to-day  at  four 
o'clock  sharp?  You  see  the  point,  don't  you? 

"  I  admit,  Grenelli,  that  you  are  a  clever  man. 
Since  the  dynamite  outrage  on  the  Icelandic 
six  months  ago  great  care  has  been  taken  in 
the  supervision  of  shipments,  for  the  fast  steam- 
ers and  the  Oceanic  Express  Company  require 
that  the  contents  of  every  package  shall  be 
visibly  made  known  to  them  before  it  can  be 
accepted.  But  once  it  is  inspected  and  official- 
ly labelled  it  goes  through  without  further 
difficulty,  the  steamship  people  being  content 
with  the  express  company's  guarantee. 

"And  now  be  kind  enough  to  give  me  your 
very  best  attention.  This  morning,  at  ten 
o'clock,  one  of  these  officially  registered  pack- 

221 


The    Gates    of    Chance 

ages  disappeared  from  the  wagon  that  you  were 
driving.  At  half-past  two  this  afternoon  the 
parcel  is  returned  to  messenger  Day,  coming 
through  your  hands.  Now,  how  long  did  it  take 
you  to  make  up  this  dummy — seal,  stamp,  and 
all  ?  Of  course,  you  had  stolen  what  you  needed 
for  the  forgery  from  the  company  office — all 
but  the  Redfield  &  Company  label,  and  that 
you  soaked  off  the  original  package  and  re- 
affixed  to  this  one. 

"It  wasn't  a  plausible  story  that  you  told 
Day,  but  you  knew  the  boy  wouldn't  be  par- 
ticular over  trifles.  All  he  cared  about  was  the 
cloud  upon  his  honesty.  You  figured  that  the 
package  would  be  returned,  perfunctorily  ex- 
amined for  identification,  and  immediately  sent 
on  board  the  steamer.  How  much  picrate  or 
dynamite  does  it  take  to  knock  out  the  biggest 
steamship  afloat?  You  could  get  enough  of  the 
stuff  in  a  box  of  this  size — couldn't  you?  And 
how  were  you  going  to  set  it  off?  Clock- 
work, of  course.  But  why  were  you  so  stupid 
as  to  use  a  clumsy  mechanism  whose  ticking 
could  be  heard  a  block  away?  Listen  to  it 
now." 

In  the  succeeding  silence  the  measured  beat 
222 


The    Upset    Apple-Cart 

of  the  escapement  was  plainly  audible.  There 
was  a  sinister  significance  in  the  sound  that  I, 
for  one,  shall  not  easily  forget.  The  man 
Grenelli  paled  and  took  an  involuntary  back- 
ward step. 

"The  steamship  Russia,"  continued  Indi- 
man,  in  his  calm,  inflectionless  voice,  "was 
booked  to  carry  an  unusually  distinguished 
company  on  this  particular  trip.  The  Inter- 
national Peace  Congress  has  been  in  session  in 
New  York  during  the  past  fortnight.  It  ad- 
journed Tuesday,  and  some  thirty  of  the  Eu- 
ropean delegates  had  engaged  passage  on  this 
boat.  Now,  consider  for  a  moment,  Grenelli — 
what  a  catastrophe  to  the  cause  of  universal 
peace  should  anything  happen  to  the  Russia! 
For  example,  the  destruction  of  the  ship  and 
the  consequent  loss  of  life  through  the  explo- 
sion of  an  infernal  machine  smuggled  into 
the  cargo !  What  confusion,  what  dismay,  what 
terror!  Then  the  poison  of  slow  suspicion,  the 
dull  but  deadly  undercurrent  of  racial  resent- 
ments, the  question,  growing  daily  more  in- 
sistent, 'Who  has  done  this  thing?' 

"  It  was  an  exquisite  stroke  of  irony,  Gre- 
nelli. I  am  connoisseur  enough  to  admire  real- 
223 


The    Gates    of    Chance 

ly  good  technique  wherever  I  find  it.  The  na- 
tions assemble  for  a  council  of  peace,  and  an 
invisible  hand  hurls  a  firebrand  into  the  very 
centre  of  the  august  circle!  Puff!  The  res- 
olutions, with  their  well-rounded  periods,  go  up 
into  smoke  and  the  tramp  of  armed  men  is 
heard  throughout  the  world.  Excellent!  Oh, 
excellent,  my  good  Grenelli ! 

"  But  chance  always  takes  a  hand  in  a  round 
game,  and  at  the  psychological  moment  I  come 
out  of  my  house  and  upset  an  apple-cart — 
your  apple-cart,  my  good  Grenelli.  What  in- 
credible bad  luck ! — to  be  bowled  out  by  a  shiny, 
red-cheeked  pippin  from  Mattie  Townley's  or- 
chard in  Saco,  Maine.  You  will  remember  a 
somewhat  similar  incident  in  the  Garden  of 
Eden  several  thousand  years  ago.  Apples  are 
certainly  unwholesome  fruit  for  the  masculine 
digestion.  But  I  beg  your  pardon — you  were 
about  to  say — 

The  man  Grenelli  glared  at  his  tormentor. 
"What  more  do  you  want  of  me?"  he  asked, 
sullenly.  "There's  the  police — why  don't  you 
turn  me  over  to  them  and  have  done  with  it?" 

"For  the  very  sufficient  reason,  my  dear 
Grenelli,  that  the  evidence  against  you  isn't 
224 


The   Upset   Apple-Cart 

strong  enough.  The  package  never  reached 
the  Russia,  and  how  are  we  going  to  prove  your 
intentions.  Besides,  in  a  matter  of  this  sort, 
the  question  of  tools  is  of  small  importance 
compared  with  the  identity  of  the  intelligence 
that  employs  them.  Who  and  what  is  back  of 
this  affair?  You,  Grenelli,  are  going  to  tell 
me." 

"Never!" 

"Don't  be  too  hasty.  Think  it  over.  We 
have  plenty  of  time  before  us." 

"  I  don't  understand." 

"  You  will-presently.  Thorp,  my  dear  fellow, 
will  you  see  that  the  servants  are  cleared  out  of 
the  house  at  once.  Let  them  all  go  to  the 
show  at  the  New  Academy — at  my  expense, 
of  course — and  they  needn't  return  until  noon 
to-morrow.  Make  them  understand  that  these 
are  their  orders.  Then  come  back  here,  if  you 
will." 

When  I  returned  to  the  library  I  found  Gre- 
nelli seated  at  one  end  of  the  big  centre-table 
and  Indiman  opposite  him.  In  Indiman's  right 
hand  was  a  revolver,  and  the  express  package, 
addressed  to  S.  A.  Davidge,  Exeter,  England, 
lay  on  the  table  between  them.  The  arrange- 
is  225 


The    Gates   of    Chance 

ment  looked  studied.  It  gave  me  an  uncomfort- 
able feeling — a  well-founded  one,  as  I  was  im- 
mediately to  learn. 

"Take  my  place  for  a  moment,"  said  Indi- 
man.  He  went  to  the  clock  on  the  mantel- 
piece and  stopped  it.  When  he  came  back  to 
the  table  he  had  his  watch  in  his  hand ;  he  laid 
it  face  downward  by  the  pistol.  "Do  you 
carry  a  timepiece?"  he  inquired  of  Grenelli. 
The  prisoner  shook  his  head.  "Very  good," 
continued  Indiman.  "We  are  now  ready  for 
our  little  experiment.  Let  me  again  have  your 
best  attention. 

"The  box  containing  the  infernal  machine 
lies  on  the  table  there.  Mr.  Grenelli  knows  at 
what  hour  the  exploding  mechanism  is  set  to 
act;  I  do  not.  But  seeing  that  the  Russia 
sails  to-day  at  four  o'clock,  we  may  assume 
that  the  explosion  must  be  timed  for  to-mor- 
row morning,  when  the  vessel  would  be  well 
out  to  sea.  Certainly,  not  earlier;  possibly 
some  hours  later.  It  makes  no  particular  dif- 
ference, for  we  are  going  to  sit  quietly  here  at 
the  table  with  that  curious  box  between  us 
until  something  happens.  Either  Mr.  Grenelli 
is  going  to  give  me  that  information  or — he 
226 


The    Upset    Apple-Cart 

isn't.  But  in  the  latter  case  it  will  be  of  no 
further  use  to  either  of  us.  Do  I  make  myself 
quite  clear?" 

The  ticking  of  the  mechanism  concealed  in 
the  box  sounded  like  the  blows  of  a  trip-ham- 
mer. Grenelli  lit  a  cigarette  with  a  poor  af- 
fectation of  bravado.  "I  can  stand  as  much 
of  it  as  you  can,"  he  said,  insolently. 

"You  have  the  advantage  of  knowing  how 
much,"  retorted  Indiman.  "  But  we'll  wait 
and  see  who's  the  best  man.  And  in  the  mean 
time,  Thorp,  old  chap,  I  think  you'd  better  cut 
your  stick.  Just  bring  up  some  biscuits  and  a 
bottle  of  Scotch,  and  we'll  get  along  as  com- 
fortably as  you  please." 

But  I  declined  to  be  sent  away  in  this  fash- 
ion for  all  that  I  was  horribly  afraid.  "I 
can't  sit  down  at  that  table,"  I  explained, 
"but  I'll  keep  coming  in  and  out  of  the  room 
as  the  spirit  moves  me.  Now,  don't  say  a 
word;  I've  made  up  my  mind." 

"Well,  I  sha'n't  forget  it,"  said  Indiman, 
simply.  Then,  in  an  undertone:  "As  a  matter 
of  absolute  fact,  the  fellow  is  a  coward,  and 
he'll  weaken  at  the  end.  There  isn't  the  slight- 
est danger — be  sure  of  that." 
227 


The    Gates    of    Chance 

Hour  by  hour  the  early  evening  dragged 
away,  and  then  began  that  interminable  night. 
I  spent  most  of  the  time  in  the  dining-room  at 
the  back,  smoking  and  pretending  to  read. 
Twice  the  book  slipped  from  my  hand,  and  I 
woke  with  a  horrid  start  from  my  cat-nap. 
Then  I  would  go  softly  to  the  library  door  and 
peep  in.  Always  the  same  tableau — the  two 
men  sitting  opposite  each  other,  alert,  silent, 
watchful,  and  between  them  the  shaded  lamp 
and  that  little  box  lying  in  the  circle  of  its 
light. 

At  about  four  o'clock  I  came  in  and  mended 
the  fire  in  the  grate,  for  the  house  was  growing 
chilly.  Indiman  looked  over  at  me  and  smiled 
brightly.  "  Well,  it's  good  to  be  out  of  the  old 
ruts,  isn't  it?"  he  said.  " '  Better  fifty  years  of 
Europe  than  a  cycle  of  Cathay,'  as  some  one  has 
truthfully  remarked.  He  was  a  philosopher, 
that  fellow.  Wish  we  had  him  here  with  us 
to-night;  we'd  teach  him  a  thing  or  two  more 
about  what  living  really  is." 

After  that  I  walked  up  and  down  the  dining- 
room  floor  pretty  steadily  until  the  dawn  be- 
gan to  steal  over  the  chimney-pots  of  the 
houses  at  the  back.  It  wasn't  a  pretty  sky 
228 


The    Upset    Apple-Cart 

that  the  light  revealed,  dull  and  streaky  look- 
ing, with  a  suggestion  of  coming  rain.  I  stood 
looking  at  it  in  an  absent-minded,  miserable 
sort  of  stupor;  then  I  heard  Indiman  calling 
me. 

"  I'm  out  of  cigars,"  he  explained.  "  There's 
a  box  in  the  buffet ;  and  just  put  out  the  lamp, 
will  you." 

Grenelli  looked  haggard  in  the  gray  light  that 
streamed  into  the  room  as  I  drew  the  curtains. 
He  started,  too,  when  he  saw  that  the  day  had 
come — it  was  quite  perceptible. 

"  I  should  like  to  know  the  time,"  he  growled. 
"It's  only  fair." 

"To  be  sure,"  assented  Indiman,  and  he 
pushed  his  watch,  face  upward,  into  the  middle 
of  the  table.  The  dial  indicated  half -past 
seven,  at  which  I  was  somewhat  surprised,  for 
I  had  not  thought  it  so  late.  But  my  own 
watch  had  run  down,  and  it  will  be  remembered 
that  Indiman  had  stopped  the  mantel-clock 
the  night  before.  Half -past  seven  it  was,  then, 
for  all  that  the  hour  again  struck  me  as  being 
rather  advanced  for  a  cloudy  morning  in  mid- 
November.  And  evidently  Grenelli  thought  so 
too.  He  could  hardly  suppress  the  exclama- 
229 


The    Gates   of   Chance 

tion  that  rose  to  his  lips  as  he  glanced  at  the 
dial. 

Ten  minutes  passed,  and  then  Grenelli  spoke. 

"If  I  tell  you  what  you  want  to  know,"  he 
said,  "am  I  to  be  allowed  to  leave  the  house 
at  once?" 

"Yes." 

"  And  I  am  to  be  safe  from  arrest?  At  least, 
sufficient  time  will  be  given — " 

"Bah!"  interrupted  Indiman,  scornfully. 
"Come  and  go  as  you  will.  I  can  break  you 
like  a  rotten  stick  whenever  it  pleases  me." 

Grenelli  drew  in  his  breath  with  a  vicious 
hiss.  "At  five  minutes  to  eight  I  will  tell 
you,"  he  said,  in  a  loud,  overbearing  voice. 

"Very  good,"  answered  Indiman,  placidly. 

But  the  fellow's  courage  deserted  him  at  the 
pinch,  in  accordance  with  Indiman's  prediction. 
He  sat  there  dry-lipped  and  wet-browed,  ?„  half- 
burned  cigarette  in  his  yellow-stained  fingers, 
and  his  eyes  fixed  immovably  on  Indiman's 
watch.  It  was  barely  a  quarter  to  the  hour 
when  he  gave  in.  He  wanted  to  cut  the  cor- 
ner as  closely  as  he  could,  but  his  nerve  was 
gone.  "I  will  tell  you — "  he  began. 

He  stopped  as  abruptly  as  he  had  started. 
230 


The   Upset    Apple-Cart 

Suddenly  the  ticking  of  the  clock-work  had 
ceased,  and  it  was  succeeded  by  a  pause  in- 
finitesimally  brief  and  withal  infinitely  ex- 
tended. Grenelli  half  rose  from  his  chair,  his 
hands  beating  backward  at  the  air.  Then 
came  a  curious  premonitory  whir  of  the  hidden 
mechanism.  The  metallic  rattle  of  the  gong 
was  magnified  in  my  ears  to  the  dimensions  of  a 
roll  of  thunder;  then  I  saw  that  Indiman  had 
torn  the  wrappings  from  the  box  and  had  opened 
it.  There  was  no  mistaking  the  object  that 
lay  within — a  common  American  alarm-clock. 
Grenelli  looked  at  it,  wide-eyed,  then  he  rolled 
off  his  chair  in  some  sort  of  a  fit,  and  Indi- 
man and  I  were  left  to  stare  each  other  out  of 
countenance. 

"  Plain  enough,  I  think,"  said  Indiman. 
"There  was  another  box  containing  the  in- 
fernal machine,  but  Grenelli  made  up  the  dum- 
my so  successfully  as  to  deceive  even  himself. 
He  got  the  two  mixed  up,  and  this,  the  original 
and  harmless  package,  was  the  one  that  should 
have  reached  the  Russia  if  Ben  Day  hadn't 
stopped  to  buy  a  red  apple.  Of  course,  it  was 
the  ticking  of  the  clock  escapement  that  misled 
him — and  me. 

231 


The    Gates   of   Chance 

"The  alarm  mechanism  must  have  been 
wound  up  and  set  just  before  the  clock  left  Red- 
field  &  Company's  yesterday  morning.  Possibly 
a  practical  joke  on  some  clerk's  part,  but  that 
doesn't  matter.  You  see,  there  is  a  twenty- 
four  hour  dial  for  the  alarm,  and  it  was  set  at 
a  little  before  XIX,  corresponding  to  about  a 
quarter  of  seven." 

"  But  your  watch  says  a  quarter  of  eight,"  I 
objected. 

"  I  set  it  an  hour  ahead,"  answered  Indiman. 
"I'm  not  altogether  a  fool,  and  although  I 
was  certain  that  Grenelli  would  weaken,  I 
wanted  some  leeway  for  myself  and  you.  Un- 
doubtedly, the  infernal  machine  was  timed 
for  eight  o'clock,  and  Grenelli  knew  it.  He 
tried  to  hold  on  long  enough  to  insure  our  de- 
struction, and  yet  get  away  himself,  but  he 
couldn't  be  sure  of  those  last  few  minutes. 
By -the -way,  the  box  containing  the  bomb 
must  be  at  his  house.  It  ought  to  be  put  out 
of  business  at  once.  Can  you  get  the  fellow 
on  his  feet?" 

But  it  took  some  time  to  bring  the  man 
around,  and  it  was  more  than  half  an  hour 
later  before  we  got  away,  the  three  of  us  to- 
232 


The    Upset   Apple-Cart 

gether  in  a  hansom.  I  should  say  that  the 
lodging  occupied  by  Grenelli  and  Day  was  the 
loft  of  a  disused  private  stable,  situated  in  a 
side  street,  three  or  four  blocks  off,  and  the 
driver  was  instructed  to  get  there  as  quickly  as 
possible.  As  we  passed  a  jeweler's  place  Grenel- 
li glanced  at  the  electric-clock  dial  in  the  win- 
dow and  saw  that  it  was  twenty-five  minutes 
of  eight.  He  had  been  deceived,  then ;  he  knew 
it  instantly.  "But  it  worked  both  ways,"  he 
sneered.  "I  have  my  secret  still." 

"Quite  so,"  answered  Indiman,  and  smiled. 

At  the  corner  we  were  halted  by  a  hail  from 
the  sidewalk.  It  was  Brownson,  of  the  detec- 
tive bureau. 

"Sorry  to  bother  you,  Mr.  Indiman,  but  I 
want  that  man  with  you.  Charged  with  lar- 
ceny of  a  package  consigned  to  Oceanic  Ex- 
press Company.  I've  been  waiting  for  him  all 
night." 

"By  all  means,  officer,"  and  the  three  of  us 
got  out. 

"I  managed  it  pretty  well,  I  think,"  con- 
tinued Brownson.  "Searched  every  nook  and 
corner  of  the  stable  where  Grenelli  and  Day 
lived,  and  finally  I  found  the  parcel.  It  an- 
233 


The    Gates   of    Chance 

swered  precisely  to  the  description,  and  I 
sent  it  down  by  Officer  Smith  to  the  Russia 
not  more  than  an  hour  ago." 

"  To  the  Russia !  Why  she  sailed  yesterday 
afternoon  at  four  o'clock." 

"Slight  accident  to  her  low-pressure  cylin- 
der," explained  Brownson.  "She  was  delayed 
for  several  hours  and  was  to  sail  early  this 
morning.  I  beg  your  pardon  —  why,  excuse 
me,  Mr.  Indiman — " 

There  was  a  public  telephone  in  the  corner 
shop,  and  Indiman  dashed  into  the  booth,  up- 
setting Officer  Brownson  into  the  gutter  as  he 
rushed  past  him.  The  clerk  at  the  pier  of  the 
Cis-Atlantic  Company  answered  that  the  Rus- 
sia had  sailed  a  little  before  seven,  and  must  be 
in  the  lower  bay  by  this  time.  Impossible  to 
reach  her,  as  the  morning  was  densely  foggy 
and  she  carried  no  wireless  apparatus.  An 
indescribable  expression  came  into  the  man 
Grenelli's  face  as  he  realized  what  this  new 
turn  of  the  kaleidoscope  meant.  But  Indiman 
and  I  involuntarily  looked  the  other  way. 

Officer  Smith  had  returned  from  his  mission, 
and  apparently  his  superior  was  not  pleased 
with  its  outcome. 

234 


The    Upset    Apple-Cart 

"Block  on  the  Elevated!"  he  exclaimed,  dis- 
gustedly. "Always  some  excuse.  Then  you 
missed  the  Russia  ?" 

"She  had  just  been  pulled  into  the  stream 
when  I  reached  the  pier." 

"Where's  the  package?" 

"I  brought  it  back  with  me." 

Now,  to  be  honest,  I  jumped  at  that.  It 
was  possible  that  the  booby  had  the  box  un- 
der his  coat,  and  it  was  now  ten  minutes  of 
eight.  But  Brownson,  who  didn't  know,  went 
on  imperturbably.  "  You  should  have  hand- 
ed it  over  to  the  representative  of  the  ex- 
press company.  What  did  you  do  with 
it?" 

"It's  at  the  stable  where  Grenelli  lived," 
explained  Officer  Smith.  "I  locked  it  up  in 
a  bureau  drawer,  and  here's  the  key." 

Brownson  looked  at  his  subordinate  patron- 
izingly. "You  have  much  to  learn,  young 
man — "  he  began.  "Much  to  learn.  Hallo! 
Something's  blown  up  down  the  block." 

Well,  to  sum  up  briefly,  there  was  no  stable 
left.  Fortunately  no  one  had  been  injured  by 
the  explosion,  and  the  outside  damage  was  con- 
fined to  a  few  broken  windows.  We  all  went 
235 


The   Gates   of   Chance 

poking  about  in  the  ruins  looking  for  a  clew  to 
the  mystery. 

"Here's  that  box,  Brownson,"  said  Indiman, 
suddenly.  "The  cover  is  somewhat  torn,  but 
you  can  make  out  the  address  easily  enough. 
It's  the  lost  property,  certainly,  and  you've  got 
the  thief,  too."  He  handed  the  officer  the 
package  containing  the  alarm-clock. 

"  That  I  have,"  answered  the  gratified  Brown- 
son.  "Keep  close  eye  on  Grenelli,  Officer 
Smith,  and  I  may  be  able  to  overlook  your 
shortcomings  of  this  morning.  I  say,  Mr.  In- 
diman, but  there's  a  regular  miracle  in  this 
'ere  business.  Now,  how  do  you  suppose  this 
blessed  little  twopenny  box  ever  come  through 
an  earthquake  like  that  there." 

"I'll  never  tell  you,"  said  Indiman. 

We  had  been  dining  with  Ellison,  the  deferred 
settlement  of  that  little  account  which  we  had 
been  owing  him  since  August.  However,  we 
made  it  up,  interest  and  all.  The  occasion  had 
been  an  undeniably  cheerful  one,  and  it  was 
close  to  midnight  when  we  finally  separated. 
Ellison  went  on  his  way  up-town  and  Indiman 
and  I  stood  on  the  corner  waiting  for  a  hansom, 
236 


The    Upset    Apple-Cart 

for  as  it  chanced  there  was  not  a  single  disen- 
gaged one  in  the  rank  before  the  restaurant. 
"Here  we  are,"  said  Indiman,  and  raised  his 
stick  as  a  four-wheeler  was  about  to  pass  us. 
But  the  driver  made  a  negative  sign  and  drove 
on.  "He  has  a  fare,  after  all,"  said  Indiman, 
with  some  annoyance.  "  But  look,  Thorp!" 

The  rolling  shades  at  the  doors  had  been 
closely  drawn,  but  just  as  the  carriage  came 
opposite  us  a  sudden  jolt  displaced  the  spring 
catch  of  the  curtain  and  up  it  flew  with  a  snap. 
There  were  two  persons  in  the  cab,  and  the 
electric  light  from  the  corner  shone  full  upon 
them.  The  one  nearest  us  was  an  undersized, 
swarthy-faced  person  who  wore  a  Turkish  fez; 
his  companion  was  a  portly  man  attired  in 
evening  clothes  and  having  his  head  entirely 
enveloped  in  a  bag  of  some  dark  material 
gathered  at  the  neck  by  a  draw-string. 

With  an  exclamation  that  might  pass  for  a 
blood-curdling  Levantine  oath  the  man  of  the 
fez  seized  the  window-curtain  and  pulled  it 
down ;  the  carriage  rolled  on. 

"An  extraordinary  spectacle,"  I  remarked. 
"There  ought  to  be  a  big  story  behind  that." 

"I  admit,"  said  Indiman,  calmly,  "that  it 
237 


The    Gates   of    Chance 

is  not  usual  for  gentlemen  to  drive  about  town 
with  their  heads  done  up  in  black  bags.  Never- 
theless, I  doubt  if  there  is  much  in  the  mystery 
worthy  of  a  connoisseur's  attention.  It  strikes 
me  as  smacking  of  the  made-up,  the  theatric; 
it  has  something  of  the  air  commercial  about 
it — an  advertisement,  perhaps." 

"Nonsense!"  I  retorted,  warmly. 

"  Well,  let  the  event  decide.  The  cab's  num- 
ber— did  you  note  it?" 

"No." 

"  It  was  No.  872,"  said  Indiman. 


XI 


The    Philadelphia    Qu  izzing-Glass 

NOWING  that  the  number  of  the 
four-wheeler  was  872,  it  was  not  a 
difficult  matter  to  begin  the  inquiry. 
But  to  secure  any  real  information — 
that  was  different.  The  driver,  a 
respectable  albeit  somewhat  thick- 
headed Irishman,  could  offer  only  vague  recol- 
lections of  his  business  for  the  night  of  No- 
vember 1 6th.  He  had  been  lucky  enough  to 
secure  several  fares,  but  there  had  been  noth- 
ing in  the  appearance  of  any  of  his  passengers 
to  attract  his  attention.  A  gentleman  in  even- 
ing dress  with  his  head  tied  up  in  a  black  bag 
and  accompanied  by  a  man  wearing  a  red  fez! 
Certainly  he  would  have  taken  notice  of  any- 
thing like  that.  "  Niver  in  my  cab,"  asseverated 
honest  Mulvihill.  "I've  been  hacking  it  for 
twenty  years  and  carried  some  quare  cargoes. 
But  of  that  sort — no,  sorr!" 
239 


The    Gates   of    Chance 

Clearly  there  was  nothing  to  be  learned  from 
the  cabman,  and  he  was  undoubtedly  sin- 
cere in  his  protestations.  The  little  peculiari- 
ties of  costume  that  had  originally  caught  my 
eye  were  obviously  unsuited  for  public  wear. 
The  fez  and  the  black  bag  had  probably  been 
brought  into  use  after  the  men  of  mystery 
had  entered  the  cab,  and  it  was  only  through 
the  accident  of  the  suddenly  released  window- 
shade  that  Esper  Indiman  and  I  had  seen  what 
we  did.  "No  thoroughfare"  stood  out  plainly 
on  this  particular  road.  Then  the  humor  took 
me  to  try  conclusions  with  Chance  herself,  the 
method  b  la  Indiman.  I  chucked  a  silver  dol- 
lar to  the  cabman.  "Whatever  it's  worth  to 
you  in  time  and  distance,"  I  said.  "  Don't  ask 
me  any  questions — go  as  you  please." 

Hackman  Mulvihill  was  a  humorist  in  his 
way  and  he  wanted  to  spare  his  horse.  Six 
times  in  succession  we  made  the  circuit  of 
Madison  Square  and  never  once  off  the  walk. 
I  was  on  the  point  of  protesting,  but  I  re- 
membered the  rules  of  the  game  and  held  my 
tongue.  Finally,  we  started  down  -  town  by 
way  of  Fourth  Avenue.  Near  Sixteenth 
Street  and  Union  Square  the  cab  pulled  up 
240 


The  Philadelphia  Quizzing-Glass 

to  the  curb,  an  intimation  that  my  chartered 
voyage  was  over. 

"  And  now  which  way?"  I  inquired,  smilingly. 

Mr.  Mulvihill  regarded  me  with  compassion- 
ate and  somewhat  unflattering  interest.  "Be 
glory!"  he  said,  frankly,  "it's  Bellevue  that 
ye'll  be  wanting  afore  long,  and  badly,  too. 
Come,  now,  jist  jump  in  again  and  I'll  rowl  ye 
up  there  quiet  and  peaceable  like.  A  touch  of 
liver,  sorr.  I  know  how  it  takes  them.  Maning 
a  drop  too  much  of  the  'red-eye,'"  he  added, 
under  his  breath.  "Quiet,  there,  Noddy,  ye 
black  divil." 

It  was  with  some  difficulty  that  I  convinced 
this  good  Samaritan  of  my  mental  and  physical 
equilibrium.  Finally  he  drove  off,  wagging  his 
head  doubtfully. 

"  But  which  way?"  I  shouted  after  him.  He 
would  not  answer  in  words,  but  pointed  east- 
ward with  his  whip-stock.  Eastward  then  it 
was. 

Between  Union  Square  and  Second  Avenue 
there  are  several  blocks  of  dwelling-houses — a 
once  fashionable  and  still  highly  respectable 
residential  neighborhood.  The  particular  street 
does  not  matter,  but  I  was  proceeding  in  the 
16  241 


The    Gates    of    Chance 

general  direction  of  Stuyvesant  Square  and  had 
crossed  Third  Avenue. 

Being  on  the  lower  or  shady  side  it  was  some- 
thing of  a  surprise  to  receive  a  flash  of  sunlight 
directly  in  the  eye.  I  stepped  back.  On  the 
pavement  at  my  feet  there  floated  a  blot  of 
quivering  yellow  light;  it  danced  directly  tow- 
ards me,  and  again  I  was  blinded  by  its  dazzle. 

The  reflection  from  a  mirror,  of  course,  but 
it  took  me  several  minutes  to  determine  its 
location. 

Ah,  there  it  was — a  peculiar  combination,  in 
polished  copper,  of  triple  glasses  fixed  to  the 
sill  of  a  second-story  window  in  the  house  direct- 
ly opposite.  The  device  is  in  common  use  in 
Philadelphia  and  Baltimore,  but  here  in  New 
York  it  must  be  classed  as  an  exotic.  Its  very 
name  is  unfamiliar,  and  I  dub  it  the  "  Philadel- 
phia Quizzing-Glass  "  for  want  of  a  better  term. 
You  understand,  of  course,  that  the  mirrors  are 
hinged  together  and  adjustable  to  any  angle. 
It  is  consequently  possible  for  an  observer  sit- 
ting in  the  room  to  remain  entirely  out  of  sight 
and  yet  command  a  view  of  all  that  passes  in 
the  street  below.  An  ingenious  contrivance, 
then,  for  keeping  one's  self  informed  upon  the 
242 


The  Philadelphia   Quizzing-Glass 

business  of  the  neighborhood.  But  New-York- 
ers, if  not  less  inquisitive,  are  more  energetic 
than  their  Quaker  cousins,  and  prefer  the  direct 
method  of  leaning  out  of  the  window,  or,  if 
need  be,  going  down  into  the  street  itself.  Still, 
there  is  something  to  be  said  for  the  "  quizzing- 
glass,"  for  we  may  look  upon  it  as  the  range- 
finder  of  the  domestic  fortress,  forewarning  us 
of  the  approach  of  the  bore  and  the  process- 
server.  Obviously,  the  ability  to  look  round 
a  corner  may  save  us  from  many  of  the  minor 
complications  that  embitter  modern  life. 

I  was  under  surveillance — that  was  certain. 
Now,  should  I  submit  to  the  impertinence?  It 
was  easy  to  put  an  end  to  it  by  walking  away. 
But  I  had  aspired  to  be  a  disciple  of  Esper  In- 
diman,  gentleman  adventurer,  and  here  was  a 
chance  to  take  out  a  letter  of  marque  on  my 
own  account — one  must  look  Fortune  in  the 
face  to  catch  her  smile.  And  so  I  stood  there 
immovable,  until  the  dazzle  in  my  eyes  cleared 
away  signifying  that  the  ordeal  was  at  an  end. 
Then  I  lifted  my  hat  and  walked  on,  taking 
note  of  the  house  number — 231. 

The  next  day,  Wednesday,  it  rained,  but 
Thursday  was  clear,  and  it  was  inevitable  that 
243 


The    Gates   of   Chance 

I  should  pay  a  second  visit  to  the  house  of  the 
quizzing-glass,  as  I  had  mentally  christened  it. 
Again  I  submitted  to  a  long  scrutiny.  Evident- 
ly the  result  was  satisfactory,  for  the  door  of 
the  house  was  opened  and  a  man  ran  quickly 
down  the  steps  and  came  towards  me.  He  was 
a  small  man  with  an  Oriental  cast  of  features 
and  he  wore  a  red  fez.  It  sounds  incredible,  I 
admit,  but  such  was  the  fact.  He  addressed 
me  civilly,  but  in  somewhat  imperfect  English. 

"Morning,  sar.     It  is  a  fine  walk-day." 

"Delightful,"  I  assented. 

"My  mistress,  sar — the  Lady  Allegra — she 
will  be  obligated  of  the  honor  to  have  your 
company  dinner.  You  have  no  engagement 
anticipatory?"  He  stood  with  his  head  cocked 
a  trifle  to  one  side,  smiling  amiably. 

"To-night?"  I  asked. 

"That,  sar,  is  my  counselment.  To-night, 
at  clock  nine." 

"Very  good.     I'll  be  here." 

Red-Fez  shook  his  head  deprecatingly.  Fi- 
nally, and  after  much  circumlocution,  I  gath- 
ered that  I  was  not  expected  at  No.  231.  My 
instructions  were  simply  to  be  in  waiting  at  the 
Worth  Monument  in  Madison  Square  at  half- 
244 


The  Philadelphia  Quizzing-Glass 

after  eight;  for  the  rest  Red-Fez  would  hold 
himself  responsible.  And  upon  this  under- 
standing we  parted. 

"  The  Lady  Allegra,"  I  said,  under  my  breath, 
as  I  walked  home.  "The  Lady  Allegra." 

Up  to  this  point  I  had  kept  my  own  counsel, 
but  now  I  felt  it  my  duty  to  make  a  confidant 
of  Indiman.  He  listened  to  my  story  with 
grave  attention. 

"It  promises  well — decidedly  so,"  admitted 
Indiman.  "Confound  it!  If  it  were  not  for 
this  unlucky  accident  of  a  sprained  ankle — " 
and  he  glanced  ruefully  at  his  injured  limb  en- 
cased in  its  plaster-of-Paris  form. 

"I  like  the  name,"  I  went  on,  somewhat  ir- 
relevantly. "The  Lady  Allegra." 

"There  are  possibilities  in  it,"  assented  Indi- 
man, grumpily.  "Will  you  hand  me  my  soli- 
taire cards — and, for  Heaven's  sake!  stop  kick- 
ing the  lacquer  off  the  andirons." 

"Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon." 

"Of  course  you  understand  what  I  mean. 
It  isn't  the  andirons,  but  the  sight  of  your 
aggressively  vigorous  legs  that  moves  me  to 
childish  wrath.  To  be  tied  down  here  like  a 
trussed  pigeon!  Better  leave  me  to  my  soli- 
245 


The    Gates    of    Chance 

taire.    I'll  be  more  civilized  after  luncheon." 
Whereupon  I  smiled  and  went  out. 

Half -past  eight  o'clock;  the  Worth  Monu- 
ment ;  Red-Fez  in  a  four-wheeler ;  the  carefully 
drawn  window-curtains;  the  production  of  the 
black  silk  bag  with  which  to  envelop  my,  head 
— it  all  happened  in  accordance  with  the  play- 
bill. At  first  I  tried  to  keep  some  idea  of  dis- 
tance and  direction,  but  I  soon  got  confused 
and  had  to  give  it  up.  I  could  only  conjecture 
that  the  course  was  a  long  one,  for  I  heard  a 
clock  striking  nine  just  as  the  cab  stopped,  and 
our  pace  had  been  a  rapid  one. 

"Thisaway,  sar,"  whispered  my  guide,  and  I 
yielded  to  the  gentle  pressure  of  his  hand  on 
my  arm.  The  street  door  closed  behind  me,  I 
felt  myself  guided  up  a  pair  of  stairs,  a  sharp 
turn  to  the  right,  and  we  had  arrived.  But 
where?  Then  I  realized  that  the  black  silk 
bag  had  been  removed  from  my  head  and  I  was 
free  to  use  my  eyes.  An  ironical  permission, 
truly,  for  I  found  myself  in  absolute  darkness. 
Strain  my  vision  as  I  might,  not  a  ray  of  light 
met  the  sensitive  surface  of  the  retina.  The 
blackness  stood  about  me  like  a  wall,  immaterial, 
doubtless,  but  none  the  less  impenetrable. 
246 


The  Philadelphia  Quizzing-Glass 

Deprived  of  sight,  every  mental  faculty  was 
instantly  concentrated  upon  the  single  sense  of 
hearing.  My  conductor  had  left  me.  There 
was  the  sound  of  a  closing  door  and  of  padded 
foot-falls  that  trailed  off  into  nothingness ;  then 
silence. 

Out  of  the  void  came  a  sharp  click  as  of  a 
well-oiled  gun-lock.  It  was  followed  by  the 
first  notes  of  a  piano -forte  accompaniment. 
A  soprano  voice  began  singing  Schubert's 
"  Fischermadchen."  What  a  delicious  timbre! 
The  clear  resonance  of  a  crystal  bell. 

The  beautiful  melody  ceased,  but  still  I 
seemed  to  hear  the  faint,  sweet  overtones  born 
of  its  final  breath,  thin  auditory  flames  that 
flickered  for  an  instant  against  the  blank  wall 
of  the  subconscious  sense,  and  then  in  their 
turn  were  gone.  Entranced  and  motionless,  I 
waited. 

A  sudden  burst  of  light  flooded  the  room, 
the  radiation  being  indirect  and  proceeding 
from  electroliers  sunken  behind  the  ceiling 
cornice.  The  apartment  was  of  medium  size, 
evidently  the  middle  one  of  the  ordinary  series 
of  three  rooms  characteristic  of  New  York  City 
houses,  and  it  was  furnished  most  simply — 
247 


The    Gates   of    Chance 

merely  a  table  of  Flemish  oak  with  two  leather- 
backed  chairs  to  match  and  some  rugs.  The 
walls  and  door  spaces  were  hung  with  red  velvet 
draperies,  which  contrasted  brilliantly  with  the 
gorgeous,  gold -leafed  plastic -work  of  the  cornices 
and  ceiling.  A  convex  mirror,  framed  in  mas- 
sive silver  gilt,  hung  on  the  side  wall.  A  second 
look  showed  that  it  was  really  a  bull's-eye  of 
crackled  glass,  opal  -  tinted  and  translucent. 
It  glowed  as  though  illumined  by  some  inward 
fire  (doubtless  a  concealed  electric-light  bulb), 
and  the  shifting  play  of  iridescent  color  was 
exquisitely  beautiful.  One  could  compare  it 
only  with  an  imprisoned  rainbow.  I  looked 
and  wondered. 

"I  have  kept  you  waiting.  A  thousand 
apologies,"  said  a  voice  at  my  back.  I  turned 
to  face  a  gentleman  who  must  have  entered 
from  the  front  room;  so  at  least  the  draperies, 
still  slightly  swaying,  attested.  A  tall  man, 
gray-haired,  and  of  an  extraordinary  thinness — 
a  caricature  of  Don  Quixote  himself,  if  such  a 
thing  were  possible. 

"The  Lady  Allegra,"  he  went  on,  "is  un- 
fortunately indisposed.  She  begs  me  to  ten- 
der her  apologies  and  regrets.  I  am  her  lady- 


The   Philadelphia  Quizzing-Glass 

ship's  resident  physician,  and  my  name  is 
Gonzales."  His  eyes,  hidden  behind  smoked 
glasses,  examined  me  attentively. 

I  murmured  some  words  of  conventional 
regrets,  and,  truth  to  tell,  I  was  bitterly  disap- 
pointed. I  turned  as  though  to  go. 

"  It  is  the  Lady  Allegra's  wish  that  you  should 
dine  here  this  evening,"  continued  Dr.  Gon- 
zales. "Solus,  it  is  true,  but  the  disappoint- 
ment is  a  mutual  one ;  of  that  you  may  be  as- 
sured." Again  I  bowed  and  intimated  my 
willingness  to  obey. 

The  dining-room  was  an  apartment  of  unusual 
size,  panelled  in  Santo  Domingo  mahogany,  the 
rich  color  of  the  wood  standing  in  admirable 
contrast  to  the  dark-green,  watered  silk  with 
which  the  walls  were  covered.  A  magnificent 
tapestry,  representing  Dido's  hunting-party  in 
honor  of  ^Eneas,  filled  nearly  the  whole  of  one 
side  wall,  and  on  the  chimney-breast  opposite 
hung  a  mirror  similar  in  appearance  to  that  in 
the  drawing-room.  The  illumination  of  the 
room  was  peculiar  but  effective — four  bronze 
female  figures,  each  holding  in  her  hands  a  globe 
of  translucent  glass  through  which  a  mellow 
radiance  diffused  itself. 
249 


The    Gates    of    Chance 

The  table,  large  enough  to  accommodate 
King  Arthur  and  his  knights,  was  beautifully 
set  with  plate  and  crystal,  but  only  two  covers 
had  been  laid.  Red-Fez,  who  had  now  assumed 
the  functions  of  a  butler,  showed  me  to  my 
place,  and  then  took  up  his  stand  behind  the 
empty  chair  of  his  mistress.  The  two  serving- 
men  began  immediately  upon  their  duties. 

It  was  an  extraordinary  repast,  for  to  both 
my  eye  and  my  palate  the  viands  were  utterly 
unknown.  In  fact,  every  dish  had  as  its  basis 
a  peculiar  substance  that  in  appearance  faintly 
suggested  isinglass.  But  it  had  no  taste,  that 
I  could  discover,  other  than  the  flavor  com- 
municated to  it  by  the  various  sauces  and  dress- 
ings with  which  it  was  served.  It  appeared 
first  in  the  soup,  and  then,  omitting  the  fish 
course,  I  recognized  it  as  the  foundation  of  an 
excellent  vol-au-vent.  It  served  again  as  a  sub- 
stitute for  meat,  compressed  and  moulded  in 
the  form  of  French  chops.  There  was  even  a 
passable  imitation  of  a  green  goose.  I  had  a 
slice  from  the  breast,  and  it  tasted  very  well. 
The  philosophers  tell  us  that  there  is  an  in- 
finite power  in  suggestion.  That  may  account, 
in  part  at  least,  for  the  complacency  with 
250 


The  Philadelphia  Quizzing-Glass 

which  I  accepted  these  remarkable  perversions 
of  the  ordinary  menu.  If  ideas  are  the  only 
realities,  my  green  goose  might  have  come 
straight  from  Washington  Market  itself. 

The  two  vegetables,  cauliflower  au  gratin  and 
boiled  potatoes,  were  good  to  look  at  and  good 
to  eat,  although  neither  of  them  had  ever  seen 
a  garden.  There  was  a  salad,  too,  with  an 
incomparable  dressing.  Finally,  an  excellent 
pudding.  The  wines  and  mineral  waters,  the 
liqueurs  and  the  coffee,  were  genuine.  The  fan- 
tastic cuisine  of  my  hostess  extended  only  to 
the  solid  portions  of  the  repast,  and  for  this  I 
was  secretly  thankful.  I  don't  like  chemical 
burgundies,  and  the  " health-food"  mochas  and 
javas  are  only  surprisingly  good  imitations  of 
exceedingly  bad  coffee. 

The  chair  opposite  me  remained  unfilled,  but 
each  course  was  served  at  the  cover  as  scrupu- 
lously as  though  the  Lady  Allegra  were  actually 
present.  It  made  me  feel  a  trifle  uncomfortable 
at  the  first — the  sight  of  that  vacant  chair  set 
back  a  little  from  the  table,  the  napkin  half 
unfolded,  the  full  wineglasses,  the  plate  with 
its  untouched  food.  And  once,  when  the  foot- 
man offered  the  cauliflower  to  my  invisible 


The    Gates   of   Chance 

vis-&-vis,  it  seemed  as  though  she  declined  it. 
The  man  hesitated  a  second  and  then  passed 
on  without  putting  a  portion  on  the  plate.  For 
the  moment  I  was  foolish  enough  to  contem- 
plate a  similar  refusal,  but  I  reconsidered — I 
am  very  fond  of  cauliflower.  > 

At  the  conclusion  of  dinner  I  took  my  cigar 
into  the  red  drawing-room.  The  lights  had 
been  lowered,  and  only  the  opalescent  bull's-eye 
glowed  with  undiminished  brilliancy.  I  sat 
staring  at  it,  and  the  outrageous  perplexity  of 
the  situation  began  to  get  on  my  nerves.  I 
must  get  out  of  here,  and  I  half  rose.  Then  I 
sank  back,  forgetting  everything  but  that  mar- 
vellous voice.  Again  the  Lady  Allegra  was 
singing,  and  could  I  doubt  that  it  was  for  me! 
David's  "Charmant  Oiseau,"  and  then  the  gay 
little  gavotte  from  "Manon." 

What  an  astonishing  repertoire — Chaminade, 
Schumann,  Grieg,  Richard  Strauss.  Finally 
Schubert,  and  Schubert  only,  the  last  and  the 
best  given,  as  it  is  meet,  to  him  who  is  the  mas- 
ter of  all.  The  rainbow-tinted  orb  of  the  wall 
mirror  continued  to  hold  my  eyes ;  they  drooped 
and  fell  as  the  radiance  grew  fainter  and  yet 
fainter. 

252 


The  Philadelphia  Quizzing-Glass 

When  I  awoke  Red-Fez  was  standing  at  the 
bedside,  hot-water  can  in  hand.  "Morning, 
sar,"  he  said,  with  gentle  affability.  "  Will  you 
permit  me  to  shaver  you?" 

I  jumped  out  of  bed  and  went  to  the  window. 
It  was  closed,  although  a  ventilator  at  the  top 
admitted  plenty  of  the  outside  air,  and  the 
glass  was  of  the  opaque  bull's-eye  variety 
through  which  it  is  impossible  to  see.  I  tried 
to  throw  up  the  sash,  but  it  would  not  budge. 

I  submitted  in  silence  to  the  ministrations  of 
Red-Fez,  not  choosing  to  enter  into  any  dis- 
cussion with  a  servant.  But  I  was  sorely 
tempted  to  protest  when  he  proceeded  to  array 
me  in  an  extraordinary  robe  of  cardinal  silk 
in  lieu  of  the  ordinary  masculine  habiliments. 
Certainly  I  could  not  leave  the  house  enveloped 
in  this  ridiculous  garment.  My  dress  clothes 
would  have  been  bad  enough,  but  there  was  no 
trace  of  them  to  be  seen.  Evidently  I  should 
have  to  call  Dr.  Gonzales  to  account,  and  hav- 
ing descended  to  the  now  familiar  red  drawing- 
room,  I  sent  Red-Fez  with  a  request  for  an  im- 
mediate audience.  A  few  minutes  later  he 
appeared. 

"Am  I  a  prisoner  here?"  I  asked,  abruptly. 
253 


The    Gates   of    Chance 

"  You  await  the  Lady  Allegra's  pleasure,"  he 
answered,  imperturbably.  "She  is  still  indis- 
posed. Possibly  by  to-night,  but  I  cannot  say 
definitely." 

"  I  do  not  wish — 

"Chut!"  he  interrupted,  irritably.  "It  is  a 
matter  not  of  your  wishes  but  of  her  will. 
That  is  inevitable.  Can  you  not  understand?" 

I  looked  at  the  immovable  figures  of  two 
footmen  at  the  door  and  then  walked  out  to 
breakfast.  An  excellent  meal  it  was,  although 
I  recognized  that  the  food  was  only  an  ingenious 
variation  upon  the  theme  of  the  night  before; 
that  mysterious  substance  resembling  isinglass 
was  the  basis  of  everything  set  before  me.  It 
was  the  same  with  luncheon  and  again  at 
dinner.  And,  as  on  the  previous  night,  it  was 
an  empty  chair  that  confronted  me.  Well, 
what  did  it  matter,  after  all.  Can  you  even 
imagine  what  Schubert's  "  Linden-Tree"  might 
be  when  perfectly  sung? 

Is  it  an  hallucination,  then,  that  possesses  me 

— some  subtle  disturbance  of  the  nerve-centres 

sapping  the  sources  of  will-power,  enfeebling 

even  the  physical  energies?     I  do  not  know. 

254 


The  Philadelphia  Quizzing-Glass 

Sometimes  I  am  ashamedly  conscious  that  I  do 
not  greatly  care.  It  is  now  a  week  since  I  en- 
tered this  house,  and  I  have  made  but  one  at- 
tempt to  reassert  my  personal  rights.  Yester- 
day a  sudden  passion  of  resolution  seized  me; 
at  all  hazards  I  must  break  the  bonds  imposed 
upon  me  by  this  invisible  enchantress.  As  I 
passed  the  door  leading  to  the  red  drawing- 
room  I  put  my  fingers  in  my  ears  —  Ulysses 
and  the  sirens.  But  when  I  reached  the  lower 
hall  I  walked  plump  into  Dr.  Gonzales,  who 
fixed  me  with  a  penetrating  look.  "  Go  back!" 
he  said,  authoritatively.  "The  Lady  Allegra 
sings — and  for  you."  I  listened;  it  was,  "Ah, 
fors  e  lui." 

I  divide  my  time  between  the  library  on  the 
third  floor  and  the  red  drawing-room,  where  the 
strange  beauty  of  the  opal-tinted  mirror  holds 
me  possessed  for  hours  together.  Remember 
that  the  Lady  Allegra  still  maintains  her  tan- 
talizing role  of  inviolable  seclusion.  It  is 
through  her  voice  alone  that  she  impresses  her 
personality  upon  my  senses.  That  seems  ri- 
diculous, does  it  not?  But  then  you  have  not 
heard  her  sing  "Ah,  fors  e  lui." 

Yet,  after  all,  the  end  came  quickly.  I  shall 
255 


The   Gates   of   Chance 

be  equally  succinct  in  my  chronicle  of  the 
events  leading  up  to  it. 

As  usual  I  had  dined  alone,  and  had  after- 
wards submitted  to  the  customary  examination 
at  the  hands  of  Dr.  Gonzales.  Why  he  should 
deem  it  necessary  to  take  my  pulse  and  tem- 
perature and  then  ascertain  my  weight  and 
power  of  grip  with  such  scrupulous  exactitude 
I  never  troubled  to  inquire.  Indeed,  it  seemed 
such  a  puerile  proceeding  that  I  have  hitherto 
refrained  from  even  mentioning  it.  To-night 
he  seemed  ill-pleased  with  the  results  of  his  in- 
vestigation. "  You  are  losing  weight,"  he  said, 
severely,  "and  you  don't  begin  to  grip  within 
ten  pounds  of  what  you  registered  a  week 
ago." 

"What  does  it  matter?"  I  answered,  as  in- 
differently as  I  felt. 

"  You  ought  to  eat  more.  No  steam  without 
fuel." 

"  I  am  not  hungry." 

"Bah!"  he  snorted,  indignantly.  "It  is  al- 
ways the  same  story.  Another  failure!  But 
no,  I  will  not  suffer  it.  Sooner  than  that  I  will 
have  you  penned  and  stuffed  as  though  you 
were  a  Strasburg  goose."  But  I  only  laughed 
256 


The  Philadelphia  Quizzing-Glass 

at  his  petulance  and  walked  on  to  the  drawing- 
room. 

I  laughed,  I  say,  and  yet  I  had  begun  vaguely 
to  realize  that  something  was  wrong.  My  head 
felt  strangely  light.  I  stumbled  over  a  corner  of 
the  rug,  and  would  have  fallen  out  of  pure  weak- 
ness if  I  had  not  caught  at  the  table  for  sup- 
port. My  respiration  seemed  more  rapid  than 
usual  and  the  sweat  from  the  slight  exertion 
beaded  my  forehead.  Then  I  forgot  every- 
thing but  that  the  Lady  Allegra  had  begun  to 
sing. 

The  desire,  the  impulse,  they  had  crystal- 
lized into  resolution.  I  would  wait  no  longer. 
This  very  night  the  walls  of  the  fortress  should 
fall,  unveiling  the  secret  of  this  insolent  loveli- 
ness, the  desire  of  all  the  world.  Ah,  my  lady 
Allegra,  was  it  chance  alone  that  led  you  to 
choose  Isolde's  "Liebestod"  for  this  the  su- 
preme enchantment? 

The  music  fell  away  into  nothingness  and  I 
stepped  forward,  my  hand  on  the  knob  of  the 
folding-doors  that  led  to  the  front  room.  I 
knocked  twice  —  firmly,  insistently.  "Open!" 
I  cried,  and  immediately  the  door-knob  yielded 
to  my  touch. 

17  257 


The    Gates   of    Chance 

"Stop!" 

Dr.  Gonzales  stood  at  the  hall  entrance  to  the 
drawing-room.  I  saw  something  that  gleamed 
like  polished  metal  in  his  uplifted  hand. 
Then  he  fell  back  and  disappeared.  It  seemed 
as  though  some  invisible  force  behind  the  por- 
tiere had  taken  sudden  and  irresistible  pos- 
session of  him.  What  did  I  care.  I  went  for- 
ward and  into  the  room,  absolutely  empty  save 
for  an  upright  cabinet  of  mahogany  placed  on  a 
central  pedestal.  It  was  tall  enough  to  conceal 
a  person  standing  behind  it,  but  it  was  not  the 
Lady  Allegra  who  came  forward  to  meet  me. 

"Indiman!"  I  said,  weakly.  "Esper  Indi- 
man!" 

' '  The  carriage  is  waiting, ' '  he  said .     ' '  Come. ' ' 

"Never!"  I  retorted,  passionately.  "You 
don't  understand — the  Lady — Allegra — " 

Well,  I  suppose  I  must  have  fainted  from 
sheer  inanition,  and  so  Indiman  explained  it 
himself  that  next  morning. 

"  You  had  been  half  starved  for  over  a  week, 
and   no   wonder   you  keeled   over.     No;  you 
can't  have   another   mouthful   of   that   beef- 
steak.   You'll  have  to  wait  for  luncheon." 
258 


The   Philadelphia  Quizzing-Glass 

I  sank  back  among  the  cushions  of  the  couch 
rather  resentfully.  "  Well,  at  least  you  can  go 
on  and  tell  me,"  I  said. 

"Certainly.  There  are  cranks  of  all  de- 
grees, as  you  know.  It  was  your  luck  to  fall 
into  the  hands  of  one  of  the  king-pins  of  the 
confraternity  —  Dr.  Ferdinand  Gonzales,  alias 
Moses  the  Second. 

"He  wanted  a  new  subject  for  his  experi- 
ments upon  the  physical  regeneration  of  the 
human  race,  and  he  caught  you  in  his  drag- 
net. It  was  a  close  call  for  you,  old  chap." 

"I  don't  understand." 

"You  have  been  starving  to  death  for  ten 
days,  and  yet  eating  three  meals  a  day  right 
along.  Nothing  peculiar  about  that,  eh?" 

"  It  was  rather  curious  stuff.  It  looked  like 
isinglass." 

"Perhaps  it  is.  All  I  care  about  is  the  fact 
that  the  food  you  have  been  eating  doesn't  con- 
tain a  particle  of  nourishment  for  the  human 
system.  But  Moses  the  Second  imagined  that 
he  had  invented,  or  rather  rediscovered,  the  one 
perfect  nutriment  for  the  race  —  nothing  less 
than  manna." 

"Manna!" 

259 


The    Gates   of    Chance 

"  Don't  you  remember  the  manna  in  the  wil- 
derness, the  children  of  Israel,  and  the  forty 
years  they  fed  upon  it.  Dr.  Gonzales,  who 
was  really  a  fine  chemist  before  he  went  dotty, 
got  the  id£e  fixe  that  all  human  ills  were  due  to 
improper  food.  He  tackled  the  problem,  at 
first  scientifically,  but  later  on  he  had  a  vision 
that  he  was  really  the  reincarnation  of  the 
Prophet  Moses.  Moses  and  manna — the  con- 
nection is  obvious  and  the  secret  was  soon  in  his 
possession.  He  manufactured  the  stuff  in  his 
own  laboratory  and  lived  on  it  himself — at  least 
to  the  verge  of  physical  extinction.  Then  he 
went  gunning  for  subjects,  and  you  know  the 
rest.  The  rubbish  fills  you  up  without  nourish- 
ing you,  and  what  you  lived  on  was  really  stim- 
ulants alone — the  wine  and  coffee." 

"  But  will  you  tell  me — how  did  you  chance 
to  find—" 

"For  the  first  few  days  I  didn't  dream  of 
interfering — it  was  your  own  adventure.  But 
on  Monday  —  that's  yesterday,  you  know  — 
I  determined  to  look  things  up  a  bit.  So  I 
walked  into  No.  231  and  scared  Mr.  Red-Fez 
into  a  few  plain  truths.  His  real  name  is  Daw- 
son,  you  know." 

260 


The   Philadelphia   Quizzing-Glass 

"No.  231." 

"That  was  the  obvious  point  of  departure, 
or  rather  of  arrival,  according  to  my  theory  of 
probabilities.  Why  drive  you  in  a  cab  all  over 
town?  It  was  only  a  part  of  the  clap-trap 
quizzing-glass,  black  bag,  and  all  the  rest  of  it. 
A  prophet  isn't  expected  to  do  business  in  the 
ordinary  way.  He'd  soon  lose  his  trade,  and 
Moses  enjoys  a  reputation  for  effects." 

"You  managed  it  very  neatly,"  I  said, 
slowly. 

"You  see,  I  couldn't  tell  just  how  dangerous 
a  lunatic  Moses  the  Second  might  turn  out  to 
be,  so  I  had  Brownson  send  a  couple  of  plain- 
clothes  men  with  me.  They  pulled  Gonzales 
back  just  in  time  to  get  his  gun  away  from  him. 
He's  in  the  pavilion  at  Bellevue  now." 

There  was  one  other  question.  I  blurted  it 
out  awkwardly  enough. 

"The  Lady  Allegra?"  I  asked. 

"But  there  isn't  any  Lady  Allegra,"  an- 
swered Indiman,  gently. 

"There  isn't — there  isn't,"  I  repeated,  dully. 

"  Listen,  old  chap.     Gonzales  was  clever  in  a 
number  of  directions,  and — well,  you  remember 
that  cabinet  in  the  front  room?" 
261 


The   Gates   o*   Chance 

"Yes." 

"  It  was  simply  an  immensely  improved  sort 
of  phonograph  that  Gonzales  had  invented. 
None  of  the  harshness  and  squeakiness  of  tone 
that  you  associate  with  the  ordinary  instru- 
ment. Partly  a  new  method  of  making  the 
records  and  partly  a  system  of  qualifying 
chambers  that  refine  and  purify  the  tones.'  It 
is  wonderful  enough  to  deceive  anybody,  and, 
of  course,  he  had  all  his  records  ready  to 
hand." 

"  Then  the  Lady  Allegra,  the  Lady  Allegra— " 

"  'Vox  et  preterea  nihil,'  "  quoted  Indiman. 
He  left  the  room  quietly,  and  I  lay  there  on  the 
lounge  staring  up  at  the  ceiling.  "'Vox  et 
preterea  nihil.' " 

Two  months  have  passed  and  I  am  slowly  re- 
cuperating in  body  and  mind.  But  there  are 
some  things  not  to  be  forgotten — for  instance, 
"Ah,  fors  e  lui,"  when  sung  by  the  most  beau- 
tiful voice  in  all  the  world. 

Indiman  proposes  that  we  shall  go  to  the 
Utinam  Club,  dine,  and  spend  the  night.  Well, 
we  don't  often  indulge  in  that  rather  question- 
able amusement,  although  we  are  accustomed 
262 


The  Philadelphia   Quizzing-Glass 

to  use  the  club  freely  throughout  the  daytime. 
All  the  more  reason,  then,  that  once  in  a  while — 
I  need  a  distraction  and  there  are  some  inter- 
esting psychological  deductions —  But  hang 
casuistry;  it  is  enough  to  say  that  we  did  go. 

It  is  undeniably  pleasant  to  be  sitting  here 
in  the  club  dining-room  sharing  a  ruddy  duck 
and  a  bottle  of  burgundy.  Yes,  and  to  feel 
the  cares,  the  disappointments,  the  burdens  of 
life  dropping  off  one  by  one;  to  be  able  to  dis- 
miss them  with  a  nod  as  one  gives  an  unfortu- 
nate beggar  his  conge.  Ills  that  one  need  not 
bear ;  evils  that  it  is  no  longer  necessary  to  en- 
dure— they  have  all  been  eliminated  by  the 
simple  process  of  excluding  from  the  spectrum 
the  ultra  blue  -  and  -  violet  rays.  A  palpable 
evasion,  of  course.  Call  it  immoral,  if  you  will, 
and  I  shall  not  lift  the  gauntlet.  Why  should 
we  quarrel  over  phrases  when  it  is  only  re- 
quired to  return  thanks  to  the  good  Dr.  Magnus 
for  his  beneficent  discovery?  That  is  enough 
for  me  at  least.  Carpe  diem,  or,  more  precisely, 
noctem. 

It  was  Dr.  Magnus  himself  who  later  on  in- 
troduced us  to  Chivers  in  the  common  room — 
Chivers,  a  little  man  of  Semitic  physiognomy, 
263 


The   Gates   of   Chanee 

with  a  hard,  knobbed  face  and  a  screw  of  black 
beard.  He  addressed  himself  effusively  to  In- 
diman, while  the  doctor  and  I  remained  specta- 
tors, silent  but  interested. 

"A  dealer  in  adventures,  a  specialist  in  the 
grotesque — ah,  I  like  that,  Mr.  Indiman.  The 
rest  of  us" — this  with  a  gesture  inexpressibly 
mean  and  fawning — "  prefer  to  haggle  over  the 
lion's  skin  after  it  has  been  cured  and  dressed. 
It's  a  mere  question  of  temperament,  dear 
sir." 

"What  have  you  to  say  to  me?"  inquired 
Indiman,  abruptly.  I  could  see  that  he  wanted 
to  kick  him. 

"  I  have  an  adventure — of  the  first  class.  I 
desire  to  dispose  of  it." 

"Yes." 

"A  noble,  a  surpassing  adventure.  More- 
over, a  commercial  opening  that  is  not  to  be 
despised — fifty  per  cent,  on  your  capital  every 
six  months." 

"Yes." 

"  I  offer  you,  then,  my  well-established  busi- 
ness of  adjuster  of  averages,  good -will  and 
office  fixtures  included." 

"  But  I  never  even  heard  of  such  a  profession. 
264 


The  Philadelphia   Quizzing-Glass 

I  know  nothing  about  averages  and  their  ad- 
justment." 

"What  difference!  It  is  the  adventure  that 
particularly  concerns  you,  is  it  not?  The  busi- 
ness— pouf !  it  runs  itself." 

"And  the  terms?" 

"  I  make  them  ridiculously  easy.  You  are  to 
take  over  the  business,  including  the  lease  of 
my  offices  in  the  Barowsky  Brothers'  bank 
building,  William  H.  Seward  Square.  In  re- 
turn for  this  accommodation  I  am  prepared  to 
pay  you  the  sum  of  ten  thousand  dollars." 
Mr.  Chivers  grinned  cheerfully  as  he  concluded 
this  astounding  proposition.  He  pulled  ten 
new  one-thousand-dollar  bills  from  his  waist- 
coat-pocket and  laid  them  on  the  table. 

Indiman  regarded  the  little  man  thoughtfully. 
"You  have  been  in  business  for  your  health?" 
he  inquired,  with  an  affectation  of  polite  in- 
terest. 

"You  have  hit  it  exactly,"  returned  the  im- 
perturbable Chivers.  "I  was  pretty  rocky 
when  I  first  went  to  William  H.  Seward  Square. 
But  the  air  in  that  Yiddish  country — wonder- 
ful, dear  sir.  Regard  me ;  punch,  poke,  pound 
where  and  how  you  like.  Sound  as  a  bell  you'll 
265 


The   Gates    of!   Chance 

find  me.  Now  I  pass  on.  I  yield  place  to  you. 
The  honor,  dear  sir,  is  mine." 

"I  confess  that  I  am  interested,"  said  Indi- 
man.  "  The  conditions  are  simply — 

"Your  personal  day  and  night  tenancy  of 
the  chambers  in  the  Barowsky  Building  for  a 
period  of  not  less  than  three  months.  I  should 
have  explained  that  the  rooms  really  form  a 
bachelor's  suite,  all  furnished,  of  course." 

"There  are  papers  to  sign?" 

"  Only  the  assumption  of  the  office  lease,  and 
I'll  give  you  a  bill  of  sale  for  the  furniture." 
Mr.  Chivers  laid  the  documents  before  Indi- 
man;  the  latter  glanced  them  over  and  drew 
out  his  fountain-pen.  A  quick  look,  one  of 
satisfaction  and  understanding,  passed  between 
Chivers  and  Dr.  Magnus.  I  caught  it  and  tried 
to  convey  a  warning  to  my  friend.  But  he  had 
already  affixed  his  signature  to  the  lease  of  the 
offices  in  the  Barowsky  bank  building.  Chivers 
did  the  same  for  the  bill  of  sale. 

Indiman  gathered  up  the  ten  one-thousand- 
dollar  bills  and  stuffed  them  into  his  pocket. 
"Want  a  receipt?"  he  asked. 

"It  is  not  necessary." 

"Well,  at  least,  we  must  have  a  bumper  to 
266 


The   Philadelphia   Quizzing-Glass 

celebrate   the   conclusion   of   the   transaction. 
Waiter." 


We  took  a  cab  in  the  gray  of  the  dawning  hour 
and  drove  home.  As  might  have  been  pre- 
dicted, my  spirits  had  dropped  to  the  zero-point 
again. 

"  I  don't  like  it — frankly,  I  don't,  old  man. 
What  if  it  should  be  a  trap?" 

Indiman  laughed  heartily.  "  Why,  of  course, 
it's  a  trap,"  he  said.  "That's  plain  as  a  pike- 
staff, whatever  a  pike-staff  itself  may  be.  It's 
the  particular  kind  of  a  trap  that  interests  me. 
The  why  and  the  wherefore." 

Arrived  at  the  house,  Indiman  handed  a  bill 
to  the  driver  and  we  ascended  the  steps.  But 
the  cabman  seemed  dissatisfied  with  his  treat- 
ment. "  Hey,  there!"  he  called  once,  and  then 
again.  Indiman  turned  impatiently. 

"Well,  what  is  it?"  he  asked 

"You  can  see  for  yourself,  guv'nor.  A  mis- 
take, ain't  it?" 

It  was  one  of  the  thousand-dollar  bills  that 

the  honest  cabby  was  holding  up.     What  a 

phenomenon  in  the  way  of  a  hackman!    And 

yet  the  New  York  night  -  hawks  are  no  fools 

267 


The    Gates   of    Chance 

and  thousand-dollar  bills  are  easy  to  trace. 
Indiman  gave  the  man  fifty  dollars  as  a 
reward  of  virtue  and  he  was  more  than 
satisfied.  But  something  still  remained  on 
his  conscience  thus  agreeably  stimulated. 

"'Scuse  me,  guv'nor,"  he  went  on,  "but 
here's  another  little  job  in  the  same  line  of 
business.  I  drove  a  gentleman  to  your  club 
early  in  the  evening,  and  he  must  have  left 
it  accidental  in  the  cab.  Maybe  you  know 
him." 

It  was  a  plain  white  envelope  bearing  the 
typewritten  address: 

MR.  ORRIN  CHIVERS, 

Nos.  13-15  Barowsky  Chambers, 

Seward  Square, 

New  York. 

The  envelope  had  been  opened,  but  the 
enclosure  still  remained  in  it. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Indiman.  "  I'll  take 
charge  of  it."  The  cabman  touched  his 
hat  and  drove  away. 

We  went  up  to  the  library  and  proceeded 
to  examine  the  treasure  trove.  It  con- 
268 


The    Philadelphia    Quizzing-Glass 

sisted  of  a  long  strip  of  thin  bluish  paper  less 
than  a  quarter  of  an  inch  in  width  and  contain- 
ing a  succession  of  apparently  arbitrary  and 
unmeaning  characters  written  in  ink.  I  repro- 
duce a  section  of  the  strip,  which  should  make 
my  description  more  intelligible. 

Indiman  looked  at  the  hieroglyphics  musing- 
ly.    "Important — if  true,"  he  murmured. 


XII 


The   Adjuster   of   Aoerages 

was  on  December  2ist  that  Indiman 
took  up  his  tenancy  of  the  offices  in 
the  Barowsky  Building.  I  should 
have  been  glad  to  have  accompanied 
him,  but  he  would  not  have  it.  It 
was  the  dealer's  hand  at  bridge  and 
must  be  played  alone.  And  owing  to  the  acci- 
dent of  a  slight  attack  of  grippe  it  was  some  ten 
days  later  before  I  was  able  to  call  upon  him  in 
his  new  quarters. 

William  H.  Seward  Square  has  its  unique 
features.  Lying  in  the  heart  of  the  East  Side, 
it  is  outside  the  regular  lines  of  north  and  south 
travel.  There  are  thousands  of  otherwise  well- 
informed  New-Yorkers  to  whom  its  very  name 
is  unknown.  And  yet  it  is  an  important  po- 
litical centre,  the  capital  of  the  Yiddish  country, 
and  the  recipient  of  many  special  favors  at  the 
270 


The    Adjuster   of   Aoerages 

hands  of  a  paternal  municipality.  There  are 
still  streets  in  the  up-town  districts  whose  pave- 
ment is  the  antiquated  Belgian  blocks  or  even 
cobble-stones,  but  none  in  Yiddishland;  here 
everything  is  asphalted.  You  may  trust  the 
district  leader  to  take  care  of  his  own. 

A  fine,  stone  building  forms  the  principal 
architectural  feature  of  the  square  on  the  west 
side.  It  contains  the  free  baths  and  would 
be  a  credit  to  any  part  of  the  city.  Most  of  the 
remaining  space  is  given  over  to  the  children 
for  a  playground.  There  is  a  semi  -  enclosed 
gymnasium  for  the  boys,  hand-ball  and  tether- 
ball  courts,  a  separate  enclosure  for  the  girls 
and  smaller  children — in  a  word,  every  form  of 
amusement  and  exercise  that  is  practicable  in 
a  public  institution  of  comparatively  limited 
area.  The  children  enjoy  it,  too.  They  come 
in  droves,  and  the  swings  and  flying  rings  are 
in  constant  use. 

It  is  like  going  to  a  foreign  country.  The 
shop  signs,  written  in  Hebrew  characters,  sug- 
gest a  combination  of  horseshoes  and  carpet- 
tacks,  and  you  may  walk  for  blocks  without 
hearing  an  English  word  spoken.  Ask  your 
whereabouts  of  a  street  boy  and  he  will  quite 
271 


The    Gates   of   Chance 

likely  turn  pale  and  edge  away.  He  does  not 
understand.  You  are  an  alien,  a  foreign  devil. 

The  Barowsky  Brothers'  bank  building  is  the 
show-place  of  the  district.  It  is  a  staring  white 
structure  covered  with  gilt  business  signs  and 
adorned  with  abortive  minarets  that  give  it  an 
air  distinctly  Oriental.  The  entrance  hall  and 
the  banking-rooms  are  sumptuous.  They  recall 
the  Arabian  Nights  and  the  word-painting  of  a 
circus  poster.  Mirrors,  gilding,  mosaics — it  is 
all  a  dream  of  luxury  and  impresses  one  with  a 
realizing  sense  of  the  financial  standing  of  the 
Barowsky  Brothers.  You  must  have  a  good 
front  in  the  Yiddish  country  if  you  expect  to 
handle  other  people's  money. 

Esper  Indiman,  adjuster  of  averages,  occu- 
pied a  suite  of  rooms  on  the  fifth  floor.  I  pro- 
ceeded thither  and  found  him  in.  We  sat 
down  and  smoked  amicably. 

"How  is  business?"  I  asked.  "Have  you 
adjusted  many  averages  to-day  ?  And,  by-the- 
way,  I'm  rather  taken  with  the  title  of  your 
new  trade.  'Adjuster  of  averages' — there's  an 
imposing  note  of  omnipotence  in  the  words." 

"It's  a  perfectly  legitimate  occupation. 
You'll  find  it  listed  in  the  business  directory." 
272 


The    Adjuster    of    Aoerages 

"  Of  course,  and  never  mind  the  details.  I'm 
satisfied  with  its  face  value,  a  brevet  of  vice- 
gerency.  God  knows  there  are  plenty  of  aver- 
ages to  be  adjusted  in  this  weary  old  world." 

"  Well,  I  may  have  some  accounts  to  balance 
before  I  take  down  my  sign,"  said  Indiman, 
with  a  grim  little  smile.  "I'm  glad  you  came 
in  to-day,  Thorp ;  I've  been  wanting  to  have  a 
talk  with  you." 

"Fire  away,"  I  answered,  flippantly. 

"Come  into  the  back  room,"  and  he  led  the 
way. 

The  suite  ran  through  the  building.  There 
was  a  good-sized  room  facing  on  the  square, 
fitted  up  with  ordinary  office  furniture ;  back  of 
that  a  bath-room,  and  then  the  rear  office,  which 
had  been  turned  into  a  bachelor's  living-room. 
There  were  bookcases,  rugs,  pictures,  a  big 
mahogany  writing-table,  an  open  fireplace, 
easy-chairs — everything  to  make  life  comfort- 
able. "And  the  couch  over  there  is  my  bed," 
concluded  Indiman.  "I'm  pretty  well  fixed, 
you  see." 

"Decidedly  so." 

"Intellectual  diversion  in  abundance;  even 
the  artistic  element  is  not  wholly  wanting." 
»»  273 


The    Gates    of    Chance 

He  stepped  over  to  a  table  in  the  far  comer ;  a 
phonographic  machine  of  some  kind  stood  upon 
it.  Indiman  touched  a  lever,  and  again  I  heard 
that  unforgettable  melody,  "Ah,  fors  e  lui," 
and  in  her  voice — her  voice!  A  cry  escaped 
me.  Indiman  pushed  me  back  into  my  chair. 
"Be  good  enough  to  listen,"  he  said, 'and  I 
obeyed. 

"  While  you  have  been  laid  up,"  he  began, 
44 1  have  been  amusing  myself  with  a  little  the- 
ory building.  I  had  taken  the  liberty  to  se- 
questrate the  remarkable  phonographic  appa- 
ratus of  your  quondam  friend  Dr.  Gonzales ;  in 
fact,  I  carried  it  away  in  the  same  carriage  with 
your  honorable  self  from  the  house  of  the 
Philadelphia  '  quizzing-glass.'  The  police  didn't 
notice — that  was  all. 

"  Dr.  Gonzales  was  a  genius,  and  his  instru- 
ment is  a  revolution  in  phonographs — purity 
of  tone,  perfect  enunciation,  and  all  that.  But 
the  really  interesting  thing  (to  me  as  to  you) 
was  not  the  machine,  but  the  records  that  it 
used.  To  whom  belonged  the  voice  that  these 
little  disks  and  cylinders  so  faithfully  repro- 
duced? It  was  a  real  woman  who  had  poured 
the  passion  and  sorrow  of  life  into  this  insen- 
274 


The  Adjuster    of   Aoerages 

tient  mechanism.  And  the  medium  had  been 
sufficient;  your  heart  had  responded. 

"  You  were  my  friend,  and  I  could  not  be  in- 
different to  aught  that  concerned  you.  We 
are,  neither  of  us,  sentimental,  so  the  bare  state- 
ment of  the  fact  is  sufficient.  You  were  on 
your  back,  and  so  it  was  my  part  to  go  to  work. 
I  did. 

"It  is  unprofitable  business  looking  for  a 
needle  in  a  hay-stack  when  you  can  buy  a 
packet  of  the  best  helix  No.  8's  at  any  shop  for 
a  nickel.  But  after  spending  a  blank  week 
interviewing  the  makers  of  phonographic  rec- 
ords I  began  to  feel  doubtful  of  my  economic 
theory.  Nowhere  could  I  find  the  slightest 
trace  of  this  particular  job  of  record-making. 
And  then  one  day  I  ran  across  a  chap  named 
Hugens,  who  was  in  the  business  in  a  small 
way.  His  place  was  three  blocks  east  of  the 
Bowery,  but  I've  forgotten  the  name  of  the 
cross  street. 

"  It  was  the  usual  experience  at  first — no  in- 
formation— but  something  told  me  that  the  man 
was  lying.  Finally,  I  pretended  to  give  up  the 
inquiry  and  left  the  shop.  It  was  after  dark 
on  a  snowy  January  afternoon,  and  I  started 
275 


The    Gates   of   Chance 

to  walk  over  to  the  Madison  Avenue  cars.  I 
dawdled  along  purposely  so  as  to  give  the  tele- 
phone time  to  get  in  its  work,  and  the  affair 
turned  out  exactly  as  I  had  foreseen.  At  Elm 
Street  a  couple  of  fellows  jostled  against  me, 
and  when  the  mix-up  was  over  the  parcel  con- 
taining my  two  sample  records  was  gone;  That 
was  all  that  had  been  wanted ;  my  watch,  pin, 
and  money  had  not  been  touched. 

"  It  was  plain,  then,  that  some  one  had  an  in- 
terest in  preventing  my  tracing  up  these  par- 
ticular records.  Not  Hugens,  of  course,  but 
his  client,  whoever  he  might  be.  Well,  at 
least,  it  made  the  case  more  interesting — yes, 
and  more  promising.  Two  nights  later  the 
house  in  Madison  Avenue  was  entered  by 
second-story  men  while  I  was  at  dinner.  But 
the  records  and  repeating  apparatus  had  been 
removed  to  the  safe-deposit  vaults,  and  my  un- 
known opponent  had  drawn  another  blank. 

"Getting  exciting,  wasn't  it?  And  then  for 
a  month  or  more  nothing  happened.  You  con- 
tinued to  convalesce  and  I  kept  on  thinking. 

"  This  impersonal  opposition — well,  there  had 
been  something  of  the  same  sort  once  or  twice 
before.  You  remember,  in  particular,  the  af- 
276 


The  Adjuster    of  Acerages 

fair  of  the  private  letter-box.  A  devilish  intelli- 
gence had  been  at  work  there,  and  some  day, 
as  I  told  you,  the  mystery  would  be  cleared  up. 

"Then  did  we  ever  know  who  Mr.  Aram 
Balencourt  really  was?  An  agent  of  the 
'Forty'?  Well,  perhaps  so,  but  I  can't  help 
thinking  that  there  was  always  a  bigger  man 
behind  him.  The  same  conclusion  would  ap- 
ply to  the  case  of  that  poor  wretch  Grenelli  in 
the  affair  of  the  Russia  and  the  box  of  dyna- 
mite. Some  one  with  brains  pulled  the  strings 
to  make  all  these  marionettes  dance. 

"Finally,  there  was  your  own  adventure 
with  the  amiable  Dr.  Gonzales.  Did  he  ever 
remind  you,  even  indefinitely,  of  some  one  else 
whom  you  had  known  ?  Think  carefully.  Well, 
it  doesn't  matter.  I  was  deceived  myself,  and 
when  I  afterwards  went  to  the  Bellevue  insane 
pavilion  to  make  some  inquiries  I  found  that 
he  had  long  since  been  discharged  as  cured. 

"There  was  just  one  hypothesis — the  exist- 
ence somewhere  of  a  strong  and  alert  personal- 
ity; a  genius  along  mechanical  and  scientific 
lines ;  a  creature  of  abnormally  developed  men- 
tality and  correspondingly  defective  ethical 
nature;  an  intelligence  absolutely  passionless 
277 


The    Gates   of    Chance 

and  ruthless,  playing  the  game  entirely  for  its 
own  sake,  and  equally  indifferent  to  the  end 
and  to  the  means  used  to  attain  it — in  other 
words,  a  monster.  Quite  an  elaborate  theory, 
you  observe ;  but  the  difficulty  was  to  fit  it  to 
the  individual.  Looking  back  on  the  problem, 
I  accuse  myself  of  being  rather  slow-witted. 
Right  under  my  eyes  and  yet  only  an  accident 
opened  them. 

"Well,  you  recall  the  night  at  the  Utinam 
when  we  met  Mr.  Chivers  and  I  accepted  his 
very  liberal  proposition  to  become  an  adjuster 
of  averages.  Of  course,  it  was  a  trap,  but 
what  connoisseur  of  the  adventure  grotesque 
could  refuse  such  a  bait?  All  I  wanted  to  know 
was  with  whom  I  was  expected  to  match  wits. 

"Of  course,  the  thousand-dollar  bills  were 
counterfeits — stage  money?  Not  at  all;  every 
one  was  as  good  as  the  gold  it  called  for  at  the 
sub-treasury.  Bribery?  From  whom  and  for 
what?  Doubtless  I  should  know  later.  As  it 
happened,  I  found  out  a  little  ahead  of  time. 

"You  remember  the  incident  of  the  honest 
cabman  and  the  hieroglyphic  letter  which  he 
turned  over  to  me?    Here  it  is,  addressed,  as 
you  observe,  to  Mr.  Chivers." 
278 


The    Adjuster   of  Aoerages 

Indiman  drew  from  a  locked  drawer  in  the 
big  centre -table  the  long  strip  of  bluish  pa- 
per covered  with  its  incomprehensible  dashes. 
"One  of  the  oldest  of  devices  for  secret  writ- 
ing," he  remarked.  "This  slip  of  paper  was 
originally  wrapped  about  a  cylinder  of  a  cer- 
tain diameter  and  the  message  traced  upon  it, 
and  it  can  only  be  deciphered  by  rerolling  it 
upon  another  cylinder  of  the  same  diameter. 
Easy  enough  to  find  the  right  one  by  the  em- 
piric method — I  mean  experiment.  Once  you 
recognize  the  fundamental  character  of  the 
cryptogram  the  rest  follows  with  ridiculous 
certainty.  Behold!" 

Indiman  took  a  long,  round,  slender  stick 
from  the  mantel-piece  and  proceeded  to  wrap 
the  ribbon  of  bluish  paper  about  it,  touching 
both  ends  with  paste  to  keep  the  slip  in  place. 
It  read  in  part: 

"He  will  not  find  the  girl,  but  so  long  as 
those  records  remain  in  his  possession  the  possi- 
bility continues  to  exist.  I  leave  it  with  you 
to  make  the  bargain,  and  if  he  is  not  altogether 
a  fool  he  will  be  content  with  his  ten  thousand 
dollars,  and  Nos.  13-15  Barowsky  Chambers 
will  be  again  without  a  tenant.  Otherwise 
279 


The    Gates    of    Chance 

— and  it  is  generally  otherwise  with  these  med- 
dlers— there  will  have  to  be  a  new  adjustment 
of  averages — what  a  felicitous  phrase! — and 
this,  as  usual,  I  will  take  upon  myself.  One 
way  or  the  other,  and,  personally,  I  don't  care 
a  straw  which  it  is." 

The  name  signed  to  this  curious  epistle  was 
David  Magnus. 

"Our  Dr.  Magnus  of  the  Utinam,"  explained 
Indiman,  but  I  hardly  heard  him.  One  over- 
whelming thought  obscured  everything  else — 
there  was  a  real  Lady  Allegra,  after  all.  That 
was  it — to  find  her,  and  I  had  the  clew.  I  must 
go  at  once.  But  Indiman  restrained  me. 

"Yes,  that  is  precisely  what  I  want  you  to 
do,  only  let  us  first  understand  the  situation 
thoroughly.  I  intend  remaining  here  during 
the  progress  of  the  investigation,  and  if  any- 
thing should  happen — 

"  What  do  you  mean?" 

"Pleasant  rooms,  aren't  they?"  and  he  look- 
ed about  him  approvingly.  "And  yet  three 
men  have  been  found  sitting  dead  in  the  par- 
ticular chair  that  I  am  now  occupying." 

I  only  stared  at  him. 

"  No  marks  of  violence,"  continued  Indiman. 
280 


The   Adjuster   of   Aoerages 

"Nothing  to  indicate  foul  play;  nothing,  mind 
you.  'Dead  by  the  visitation  of  God,'  ac- 
cording to  the  coroner,  but  I  should  call  it  an 
'adjustment  of  averages.'  That  is  a  felicitous 
phrase.  I  got  my  facts,  by-the-way,  from  the 
janitor.  He  is  rather  proud  of  the  affair  Ba- 
rowsky,  as  we  may  call  it." 

"A  monster,  indeed!"  I  exclaimed,  warmly. 

"Oh,  we  mustn't  misjudge  our  good  Dr. 
Magnus,"  said  Indiman,  indulgently.  "I  used 
the  word  'monster'  in  a  purely  psychological 
sense.  You  can't  call  such  a  being  immoral; 
he  is  simply  unmoral." 

"Not  even  a  criminal  lunatic." 

"Certainly  not.  But  I  acknowledge  that 
society  would  be  justified  in  protecting  itself 
from  such  a  creature.  And  it  will." 

"  But  why  should  you  remain  here,  exposed 
to  danger?" 

"My  dear  Thorp,  I  want  to  play  the  game. 
I'm  sure  it's  one  worthy  of  my  best  attention." 

We  argued  it  out  for  an  hour  or  more,  but 
Indiman  was  not  to  be  moved  from  his  position. 
So  it  came  back  to  his  original  proposition.  I 
was  to  take  up  the  search  on  the  outside  for  the 
Lady  Allegra,  and  Indiman  was  to  hold  the  fort 
281 


The   Gates   of    Chance 

at  Nos.  13-15  Barowsky  Chambers.     I  rose  to 

go- 

"You  don't  need  these,  do  you?"  he  asked, 
a  little  doubtfully,  picking  up  one  of  the  phono- 
graphic cylinders.  I  shook  my  head.  As  though 
I  could  have  forgotten  the  smallest  inflection  of 
that  voice!  So  we  parted. 

It  had  resolved  itself  into  the  needle  in  a 
hay-stack,  after  all.  Where  was  I  to  look  and 
for  what?  A  voice!  "Vox  et  preterea  nihil," 
to  quote  again  that  beloved  Vergilian  line. 
To  the  unprejudiced  mind  it  would  seem  hope- 
less enough,  and  yet  I  never  doubted  for  an 
instant  but  that  I  should  find  her.  If  a  man 
is  sure  that  the  world  holds  the  one  woman 
intended  for  him  he  may  be  equally  confident 
that  their  paths  will  somewhere,  somehow, 
sometime  intersect. 

It  was  the  middle  of  the  musical  season,  and 
I  attended  everything  from  grand  opera  to 
music-hall.  For  the  first  and  most  obvious 
procedure  was  to  assume  that  the  Lady  Allegra 
was  a  professional  singer.  Either  that  or  in 
the  very  front  rank  of  amateurs.  As  to  the 
latter,  I  had  always  been  more  or  less  in  with 
the  musical  set,  and  I  knew  of  no  one  who 
282 


The   Adjuster   of   Aoerages 

came  within  a  mile  of  filling  my  bill  of  par- 
ticulars. 

A  professional,  then,  but  not  necessarily  high 
up  on  the  ladder.  Merit  may  wait  a  long  time 
for  its  due  recognition.  So  I  did  not  despise 
the  humble  field  of  vaudeville  and  of  the  con- 
tinuous performance  houses. 

Week  after  week  passed  without  result,  and 
it  was  now  the  ist  of  March.  I  saw  Indiman 
every  few  days  and  the  game  dragged  equally 
with  him.  Chivers  had  called  half  a  dozen 
times,  and  was  now  openly  negotiating  for  the 
possession  of  the  phonographic  cylinders.  But 
Indiman  fenced  skilfully  and  kept  him  hang- 
ing on. 

One  night  I  was  strolling  through  East  Hous- 
ton Street.  A  transparency  caught  my  eye. 
It  announced  that  a  performance  of  high-class 
vaudeville  was  in  progress.  I  paid  my  dime 
and  entered. 

A  long,  low-studded  room,  dim  with  tobacco- 
smoke  and  redolent  of  stale  beer.  At  the  far 
end  a  small  stage  with  faded  red  hangings. 
The  card  read  No.  7,  and  the  programme  in- 
formed me  that  the  turn  was  "A  Bouquet  of 
Ballads."  A  slight,  fair-haired  girl  appeared 
283 


The    Gates   of    Chance 

on  the  stage.  Her  cheeks  were  burning,  and 
she  kept  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  floor.  The  piano 
jangled,  and  she  began  her  song,  Schubert's 
"Linden-Tree."  Her  voice  shook  and  quav- 
ered as  she  went  on,  but  I  knew  it.  I  had 
found  the  Lady  Allegra. 

The  audience  listened  indifferently.  This 
sort  of  thing  did  not  appeal  to  East  Houston 
Street  sensibilities,  and  there  was  no  applause 
at  the  end.  The  girl  essayed  a  few  bars  of  her 
second  number,  a  popular  air  in  trivial  waltz 
time,  but  with  even  poorer  success.  Then  she 
broke  down  altogether  and  retired  distressfully. 
Cat-calls  and  jeers,  of  course. 

But  one  turn  had  been  allotted  to  "Mavis," 
as  she  was  called  in  the  bill,  and  I  assumed  that 
she  would  shortly  leave  the  place.  I  went  out- 
side and  waited.  Within  ten  minutes  I  saw 
her  emerging  from  the  performer's  entrance, 
cloaked  and  deeply  veiled.  But  I  could  not  be 
mistaken.  I  stood  stock-still  like  any  fool  as 
she  passed  close  to  me.  What  was  I  to  do? 

Then  good-fortune  smiled  for  once,  and  in 
gratitude  for  that  surpassing  indulgence  I  here- 
by relinquish  all  claim  upon  the  lady  for  favors 
to  come,  now  and  forever.  As  the  girl  passed 
284 


The   Adjuster    of   Aoerages 

down  the  street  a  couple  of  pasty-faced  young 
men  stepped  forward.  I  saw  her  stop  and  shrink 
away.  A  half-dozen  steps  and  I  had  shoved 
in  between  them.  The  presumptuous  youths 
sprawled  to  opposite  points  of  the  compass 
and  I  had  drawn  her  hand  through  my  arm.  I 
could  feel  it  tremble,  but  I  carried  her  onward 
exultantly,  masterfully.  A  man  takes  his  own 
when  he  finds  it.  Then  at  the  next  street-lamp 
I  stopped  and  released  her.  Within  the  circle 
of  the  light  we  stood  and  gazed  into  each  other's 
eyes. 

The  Lady  Allegra  who  was!  It  seems  odd 
to  think  of  her  now  as  Alice  Allaire — a  pretty 
enough  name  but  not  particularly  romantic. 
And  when  she  changes  it  to  Thorp,  as  she  has 
just  promised  to  do —  But  perhaps  I  am  go- 
ing a  bit  too  fast.  However,  her  story  is  sim- 
plicity itself. 

My  dear  girl  is  an  orphan,  and  six  months  ago 
she  went  to  live  with  her  guardian  and  uncle, 
David  Magnus.  But  the  situation  quickly  be- 
came intolerable.  The  attentions  of  the  odious 
creature  Chivers  were  openly  encouraged  by  Dr. 
Magnus,  and  the  child,  although  friendless  and 
285 


The    Gates    of    Chance 

in  a  strange  city,  had  no  recourse  but  to  run 
away.  Surely,  her  voice  would  secure  her  a 
living!  But  the  weeks  passed  and  her  store  of 
money  was  running  dangerously  low.  The 
Houston  Street  vaudeville  had  been  the  one 
chance  that  had  offered,  and  she  had  hoped  to 
make  it  good.  But  that  first  appearance  had 
been  her  last.  After  the  fiasco  of  which  I  had 
been  a  witness  she  had  been  discharged  on  the 
spot.  We  smile  as  we  recall  it  now,  but  it 
had  been  a  terrible  catastrophe  to  contemplate 
at  the  time.  What  would  you  have  done? 

We  went  straight  to  Indiman,  and  he  lis- 
tened with  close  attention. 

"You  have  property,  then?"  he  asked. 

Miss  Allaire  looked  troubled.  "There  is 
money.  I  even  think  it  must  be  a  large  estate. 
But  I  don't  know;  my  uncle  never  spoke  of 
my  affairs." 

"  One  of  those  cases  where  it  is  virtually  im- 
possible to  prove  anything,"  said  Indiman  to 
me.  "Nevertheless,  Magnus  would  be  quite 
satisfied  to  have  the  absence  of  his  niece  made 
a  permanent  one — it  saves  the  bother  of  mak- 
ing any  explanations  whatever." 

"The  phonographic  records  were  the  only 
286 


The    Adjuster    of    Aoerages 

clew,"  I  observed.  "At  least  he  thought 
so." 

"  Yes,  and  .consequently  he  has  been  working 
all  this  while  to  get  them  away  from  me.  We're 
ready  now  to  make  a  deal,  but  I'd  like  to  know 
what  stakes  are  on  the  table  before  playing  a 
card." 

"  There  was  an  ante  of  ten  thousand  dollars, 
you  remember." 

"  Quite  so.  Well,  Miss  Allaire,  if  you  are  will- 
ing to  have  me  play  the  partie  in  your  behalf — 

"  I  could  ask  for  nothing  better,"  said  the  girl, 
quickly. 

"  Agreed,  then.  And,  really,  I  think  it  is  the 
only  chance.  Magnus  is  too  clever  a  man  not 
to  have  covered  his  tracks,  and  in  an  ordinary 
legal  battle  you  would  probably  be  worsted. 
But  he  doesn't  want  a  fight  if  he  can  help  it, 
and  that  is  the  club  I  propose  to  use.  Now 
you'll  have  to  go,  for  I  expect  Olivers  at  two." 

I  am  glad  that  I  glanced  back  for  that  last 
time  as  we  left  the  room.  Indiman  was  smiling, 
his  head  thrown  back  and  his  eyes  aglow.  The 
fight  was  on,  and  he  was  awaiting  it  as  another 
man  might  his  bride.  To  be  remembered  at 
one's  best ;  I  know  I  should  wish  that  for  myself. 
287 


The    Gates    of   Chance 

A  fortnight  passed.  I  had  not  heard  a  word 
from  Indiman,  and  I  dared  not  intrude  upon 
him  without  an  invitation.  I  had  taken  Miss 
Allaire  to  the  Margaret  Louise  Home  for  Women, 
but  two  weeks  is  the  limit  of  residence  there. 
What  was  to  be  done  now?  My  own  slender 
funds  were  exhausted  and  Alice  had  not  a 
penny.  So  we  did  the  wisest  possible  thing 
under  the  circumstances — or  the  most  foolish, 
whichever  you  care  to  term  it.  An  hour  after 
we  had  been  married  I  went  down  to  Printing 
House  Square  and  literally  forced  a  city  editor's 
hand  for  an  assignment  to  general  reportorial 
work.  At  least  we  should  not  starve.  I  in- 
formed Indiman  by  letter  of  the  event,  but  re- 
ceived no  reply. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  2ist  of  March  I  was 
in  the  city  room  of  the  Planet.  Mr.  Dodge,  the 
city  editor,  beckoned  to  me.  He  spoke  quickly : 

"  Our  representative  at  Police  Headquarters 
has  just  telephoned  that  a  man  has  been  found 
dead  in  the  Barowsky  Brothers'  bank  building, 
and  there's  some  yarn  to  the  effect  that  he  is 
the  fourth  to  die  alone  in  that  particular  office. 
Better  go  down  and  take  a  look  at  things.  May 
be  a  good  story  in  it." 

288 


The   Adjuster   of   Aoerages 

So  there  was,  but  the  Planet  never  published 
it;  they  accepted  my  resignation  in  lieu  of  an 
explanation. 

I  tried  to  think  of  indifferent  matters  as  I 
hurried  over  to  William  H.  Seward  Square,  but 
my  heart  kept  pounding  against  my  ribs.  Could 
it  be  that  Indiman — that  he  had  lost  the  game? 

There  was  the  usual  crowd  of  curiosity  - 
mongers  hanging  about  the  bank  building,  and 
of  course  the  police  had  taken  charge.  But 
the  sergeant  happened  to  be  well  disposed  tow- 
ards newsmen,  and  my  Planet  badge  procured 
me  instant  admission  to  the  scene  of  the  trag- 
edy. I  passed  into  the  back  room.  I  could 
see  the  rigid  figure  sitting  in  the  big  chair.  I 
forced  myself  to  look  at  him  squarely. 

The  dead  man  was  David  Magnus. 

I  went  straight  from  William  H.  Seward 
Square  to  our  boarding-house.  A  bulky  pack- 
age had  just  come  for  me  through  a  special- 
delivery  messenger.  It  contained  negotiable 
securities  to  the  amount  of  two  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  dollars ;  also  a  half-dozen  sheets 
of  letter-paper  in  Indiman's  handwriting.  I 
transcribe  the  latter: 
19  289 


The    Gates    of   Chance 

"Congratulations,  my  dear  Thorp,  on  your 
marriage.  They're  a  bit  belated,  I  know,  but  I 
haven't  been  in  the  mood  for  writing  of  late. 
Moreover,  I  wanted  to  make  sure  of  Mrs. 
Thorp's  dowry.  I  enclose  the  proceeds  of  the 
campaign,  and  fancy  that  the  settlement  isn't 
so  far  out  of  the  way.  But  then  our  good 
friend  Magnus  never  expected  that  he  would  be 
called  upon  to  pay  it.  Here's  the  story  as  I 
wrote  it  down  from  day  to  day. 

"March  i.  It's  plain  enough  that  Magnus 
has  been  embezzling  the  fortune  of  his  niece, 
Miss  Allaire.  From  what  the  girl  could  tell  me 
of  her  late  parent's  mode  of  living  I  put  them 
down  as  being  comfortably  off,  if  not  rich.  So 
I  have  intimated  that  I  might  consider  an 
offer  of  fifty  thousand  dollars  for  the  phono- 
graphic records  in  my  safe-deposit  vault.  At 
least  I  will  now  draw  the  enemy's  fire. 

"  March  j.  Chivers  has  called  and  affects  to 
regard  my  proposition  as  absurd.  I  have  ri- 
posted by  raising  my  price  to  seventy -five 
thousand  dollars.  He  protested  angrily,  and 
I  immediately  made  it  one  hundred  thousand 
dollars. 

"  March  8.  Five  days  of  silence  and  then  an- 
290 


The   Adjuster   of   Aoerages 

other  call  from  Chivers.  I  met  him  with  the 
statement  that  now  I  would  not  take  less  than 
one  hundred  and  twenty-five  thousand  dollars. 
He  seemed  flurried  and  said  that  he  would  have 
to  consult  his  principal.  'As  you  like,'  I  re- 
marked, carelessly,  'but  it  will  then  cost  you 
one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars.'  Mag- 
nus is  evidently  alarmed  and  is  wondering  how 
much  I  really  know. 

''March  9.  No  word  from  the  hostile  camp. 
The  inference  is  that  I  may  now  look  for  a  move 
on  my  antagonists'  part.  'Otherwise,'  as  he 
says  in  that  precious  note,  '  there  will  have  to 
be  a  new  adjustment  of  averages.'  Precisely. 

"The  position  is  probably  a  dangerous  one, 
and  I  must  take  the  obvious  precautions.  To 
begin  with,  I  shall  not  leave  these  rooms  until 
the  affair  is  over,  and  I  have  made  arrangements 
with  an  up-town  restaurant  to  supply  me  with 
my  meals  in  sealed  vessels.  I  am  thus  insured 
against  a  street  assault  and  poison.  But  all 
this  is  probably  useless.  The  Magnus  method 
of  attack  will  be  far  more  subtle. 

"  I  have  just  written  to  Chivers  that  two  hun- 
dred thousand  dollars  will  now  be  necessary  if 
he  wants  those  phonographic  records. 
291 


The    Gates   of   Chance 

"March  n.  I  have  had  a  talk  with  Louis, 
the  janitor,  about  the  Barowsky  'affairs.' 
Three  men  found  dead  in  the  big  chair  that 
faces  the  centre-table  in  my  living-room.  The 
date  in  every  case  was  the  2ist  of  March. 
If  not  an  extraordinary  coincidence  there  is 
food  for  reflection  in  this  plain  statement.  It 
gives  me  ten  clear  days,  and  I  can  eat  my 
dinner  to-night  in  comparative  comfort. 

"March  12.  I  have  assumed  that  the  psy- 
chological moment  is  scheduled  for  March 
2ist,  but  both  the  direction  and  the  nat- 
ure of  the  blow  are  still  unknown.  I  have 
made  a  minute  examination  of  the  rooms  and 
all  that  they  contain,  but  can  discover  nothing 
in  the  nature  of  a  trap.  There  are  no  secret 
doors,  no  collapsing  walls,  no  hidden  tubes  for 
the  dissemination  of  poisonous  vapors.  My 
windows  are  not  overlooked  from  any  outside 
point  of  vantage,  thus  eliminating  the  silent 
bullet  of  the  air-gun.  In  a  word,  the  machinery 
of  the  melodrama  seems  to  be  entirely  non- 
existent. And  yet  I  know  that  unless  I  can 
get  the  end  of  the  clew  before  the  2ist  of 
March  I  shall  sit  dead  in  the  big  chair  over 
there,  just  as  the  three  who  have  gone  before  me. 
292 


The   Adjuster   of   Averages 

"March  18.  Still  no  answer  from  Chivers. 
I  have  sent  him  a  final  communication  fixing 
my  price  at  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand 
dollars,  and  saying  that  unless  the  proposition 
is  accepted  within  three  days  further  negotia- 
tions will  be  broken  off. 

"March  19.  The  offer  is  accepted.  At  noon 
on  Friday,  the  2ist,  two  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  dollars  in  negotiable  securities  will 
be  placed  in  my  hands,  and  I  am  to  give  in 
return  an  order  on  the  safe-deposit  company 
for  the  phonographic  plates.  But  there  is  one 
paragraph  in  the  letter  that  puzzles  me.  It 
reads : 

"'My  client  will  come  in  person  on  Friday 
to  conclude  the  business,  but  only  in  the  event 
of  the  day  being  bright  and  sunny.  If  rainy 
or  cloudy  you  may  expect  him  at  a  somewhat 
earlier  hour  on  Saturday  or  the  next  clear  day 
whichever  it  may  be.' 

"  Now  what  does  this  mean?  On  the  face  of 
it,  a  disinclination  on  the  part  of  an  elderly 
gentleman  to  expose  himself  to  these  chill  March 
winds.  But  Magnus  is  not  very  old,  and  he 
does  not  look  in  the  least  rheumatic. 

"  I  have  forgotten  to  mention  the  one  pecu- 
293 


The    Gates   of   Chance 

liarity  that  I  discovered  in  the  furniture  of  my 
living-room.  The  big  chair  is  immovably  fixed 
to  the  floor,  its  heavy  pivot-base  being  riveted 
down  to  an  iron  bed-plate.  And  the  chair  itself 
is  not  made  of  mahogany,  as  I  had  supposed, 
but  of  an  unknown  metallic  alloy  that  simu- 
lates the  wood  very  closely.  Well,  I  was  pre- 
pared for  something  like  this. 

"Another  interesting  point.  The  windows 
in  the  living-room  face  in  a  southerly  direction, 
and  the  sun  is  now  every  day  getting  a  little 
farther  round,  penetrating  a  little  deeper,  at 
every  noon  hour,  into  the  room.  On  the  2ist 
it  will  cross  the  line,  and  at  least  one  ray  will 
illumine  a  spot  that  for  several  months  has  not 
been  touched  by  the  direct  sunlight.  What 
spot? 

"It  is  nearing  twelve  o'clock,  and  as  I  sit  in 
the  big  chair  I  can  see  the  bar  of  golden  light 
creeping  steadily  onward.  It  reaches  the  chair, 
and  half-way  around  the  pivot-base.  Then 
the  heavenly  clock  begins  its  retrograde  move- 
ment, and  the  ray  of  sunlight  is  forced  to  re- 
treat. But  to-morrow  it  will  come  a  little 
farther,  and  so  again  on  the  day  after. 

"Around  the  sash  in  the  big  window  the 
294 


The   Adjuster   of   Acerages 

architect  has  inserted  a  row  of  glass  bull's-eyes, 
a  style  of  ornamentation  suited  to  the  semi- 
Oriental  tastes  of  William  H.  Seward  Square. 
I  go  up  and  examine  them  closely.  They  seem 
ordinary  enough  —  but  stop!  The  third  from 
the  bottom;  it  has  a  peculiar  depth  and  clear- 
ness. It  might  very  well  be  a  lens — a  burning- 
glass,  to  use  the  old-fashioned  term.  How 
close  has  the  sun  drawn  to  this  particular  bull's- 
eye?  To-morrow  I  will  take  note. 

"  March  20.  At  high  noon  the  sun  has  reached 
within  a  hair's-breadth  of  the  third  bull's-eye 
from  the  bottom.  To-morrow  it  will  surely 
shine  through  my  suspect,  and  if  the  latter  be  a 
true  lens  it  will  concentrate,  for  several  minutes, 
a  high  degree  of  heat  at  the  particular  spot  upon 
which  its  rays  are  focussed.  That  spot  I  have 
found,  by  experiment,  to  be  one  of  a  series  of 
small  bosses  set  in  the  pivot-base  of  the  big 
chair.  I  applied  the  flame  of  a  match  and 
immediately  the  metal  boss  began  to  soften. 
I  understand  now.  The  boss  is  made  of  a 
fusible  alloy  that  melts  at  a  certain  prearranged 
temperature;  it  is  simply  a  variation  of  the 
common  safety  plug  used  in  all  the  systems  of 
mechanical  protection  against  fire.  At  noon 
295 


The   Gates   of   Chance 

to-morrow,  March  2ist,  the  rays  of  the  sun  will 
be  concentrated  by  the  lens  in  the  window- 
sash  and  will  fall  upon  this  boss  of  fusible 
metal.  The  plug  will  melt,  releasing  a  spring, 
let  us  say,  and  a  train  of  action  will  be  set  in 
motion. 

"The  precise  nature  of  that  action  I  shall 
probably  not  discover.  I  incline  to  the  belief 
that  it  is  of  an  electrical  nature.  A  connection 
is  to  be  thereby  established .  with  one  of  the 
deadly  currents  that  can  be  tapped  for  the 
asking  here  in  New  York.  It  may  be  objected 
that  the  men  who  died  in  the  chair  over  there 
showed  no  external  marks  of  death  by  electrical 
shock.  But  the  autopsy,  if  it  had  been  per- 
formed by  Coroner  Lunkhead,  might  have  told 
a  different  story.  Magnus  is  as  good  an  elec- 
trician as  he  is  a  chemist,  and  he  could  easily 
rig  up  some  kind  of  transformer  reducing  the 
power  of  the  current  just  enough  to  paralyze 
the  victim — death  by  a  myriad  of  small  shocks 
instead  of  one  big  one.  Now  it  is  plain  why 
the  spider  will  not  come  to  spring  his  trap  un- 
less the  sun  shines  on  the  2ist  of  March. 
If  it  doesn't,  the  play  goes  over  to  the  next 
clear  day,  only  that  the  curtain  will  rise  a  min- 
296 


The   Adjuster   of   Aoerages 

ute  or  so  earlier  in  correspondence  with  the 
onward  march  of  the  sun-god,  the  executioner 
in  the  cast  of  our  drama.  Well,  I  have  made 
my  preparations  to  counter-check.  To-morrow 
we  shall  see  what  we  shall  see. 

"March  21.  I  have  still  an  hour  before  the 
expressman  will  come  for  the  clock-case,  and  I 
must  take  the  opportunity  to  finish  my  notes. 
The  dead  man  sits  opposite  me  at  the  table,  but 
that  does  not  matter.  There  is  plenty  of  room 
for»us  both. 

"The  day  dawned  clear  and  fine,  and  at  ten 
o'clock  the  sun  was  shining  brightly.  He  will 
come  then. 

"At  eleven  I  began  to  wonder  how  Dr.  Mag- 
nus proposes  to  witness  my  last  agonies  with- 
out risk  of  suspicion  attaching  to  his  precious 
self.  If  he  is  seen  entering  and  leaving  my 
room  this  morning  he  may  be  called  upon  for 
an  explanation  later.  One  cannot  be  too  care- 
ful in  playing  the  delicate  role  of  the  amateur 
assassin. 

"But  I  have  wronged  my  excellent  friend. 

He  has  foreseen  the  difficulty  and  provided 

against  it.     At  precisely  half  after  eleven   a 

couple  of  expressmen  delivered  what  purported 

297 


The    Gates    of    Chance 

to  be  a.  clock-case  at  my  outer  office.  It  was 
addressed  to  me  and  I  receipted  for  it  without 
hesitation. 

" '  I  understand  that  we  are  to  call  for  it  again 
at  two  o'clock,'  said  one  of  the  men.  'That  '11 
give  you  time  to  pack  up  the  other  clock?' 

"  *  Very  good,'  said  I. 

" '  And  Mr.  Gill  said  that  you  would  set  the 
case  out  on  the  landing  if  you  had  to  leave  the 
office  before  we  got  back.  I'll  put  the  receipt 
under  the  door.' 

'"I  understand,'  I  answered,  carelessly. 
'  Get  yourself  some  cigars,'  and  I  slipped  a  half- 
dollar  in  the  man's  hand.  He  thanked  me 
and  withdrew.  I  sat  down  and  waited. 

"The  lid  of  the  case  was  removable  from  the 
inside.  I  watched  the  screws  fall  one  after  an- 
other to  the  floor.  Then  the  lid  followed,  and 
Dr.  Magnus  stood  before  me.  His  eyes,  dis- 
torted horribly  by  the  extra  powerful  lenses 
of  his  spectacles,  fixed  me  with  a  steady  look. 
He  came  close  as  though  to  assure  himself  that 
there  was  no  mistake.  His  face  almost  touched 
mine.  He  put  on  his  second  and  third  pair  of 
glasses,  and  again  I  felt  like  the  fly  under  the 
microscope. 

298 


The   Adjuster   of   Aoerages 

"We  did  not  go  through  the  farce  of  ex- 
changing salutations.  This  was  war  and  we 
should  both  know  it.  It  was  now  nearly  noon 
and  the  sun  was  rapidly  approaching  the 
zenith.  I  led  the  way  into  the  rear  room. 

'"Here  are  the  securities,'  said  Magnus.  I 
looked  them  over  and  announced  myself  as 
satisfied. 

" '  Kindly  sit  down  and  write  me  out  an  order 
on  the  safe-deposit  company,'  he  went  on,  in 
rather  a  petulant  tone.  He  was  standing  by 
the  big  chair.  He  bent  forward  as  though  to 
turn  it  in  my  direction. 

"The  psychological  moment  had  come,  but 
the  trick  was  even  easier  than  I  had  anticipated. 
Being  in  a  stooping  posture,  he  was  partially 
off  his  balance.  A  sharp  jerk  at  his  coat-collar 
and  he  was  seated  in  the  big  chair.  He  bit  at 
my  hand  savagely  as  a  dog  snaps,  but  I  had 
been  too  quick  for  him.  Then  a  couple  of  turns 
of  stout  window-cord  put  everything  secure. 

"The  man  seemed  dazed.  He  made  no  at- 
tempt to  release  himself.  He  did  not  even 
speak.  But  then  his  lips  were  dry.  They 
opened  and  shut  mechanically.  His  eyes,  star- 
ing through  their  triple  glasses,  were  turned 
299 


The   Gates   o$   Chance 

towards  the  window.  The  sunlight,  shining  in 
full  strength,  was  creeping  steadily  towards  the 
row  of  bull's-eyes  on  the  right  of  the  sash.  It 
lay  in  a  broad,  golden  band  on  the  polished  floor. 

"A  decrepit  fly  crawled  out  of  a  crack  and 
made  feebly  for  the  welcome  warmth.  The 
prisoner's  feet  were  free  and  he  advanced  one 
of  them  slowly,  stealthily  towards  the  miser- 
able insect,  then  smashed  ruthlessly  down  upon 
it.  In  my  turn  I  looked  away,  gazing  steadily 
at  the  window  and  the  sun  beyond.  A  few 
minutes  now  and  we  would  know. 

"A  little  cloud  no  bigger  than  a  man's  hand. 
It  was  travelling  directly  towards  the  sun's  disk. 
Suppose  now  that  its  veil  obscured,  at  the  final 
moment,  the  fatal  ray.  He  saw  it  too.  To- 
gether we  watched  it  slowly  drifting  through 
the  brilliant  blue  of  the  sky — a  little  cloud  no 
bigger  than  a  man's  hand. 

"The  currents  of  air  in  the  upper  regions 
first  accelerated  and  then  retarded  the  progress 
of  the  vaporous  island.  It  seemed  to  stop; 
then  it  hung  for  an  instant  directly  on  the 
lower  limb  of  the  great  ball  of  light.  A  sen- 
sation of  intolerable  cold  pervaded  my  entire 
body.  Involuntarily  I  shut  my  eyes. 
300 


The   Adjuster   of   Averages 

"  I  forced  myself  to  look.  The  cloud  had  dis- 
appeared. Its  imponderable  essence  had  been 
absorbed  into  the  clear  ether  as  a  drop  of  water 
sizzles  into  nothingness  on  a  red-hot  stove. 
The  sunlight,  shining  through  the  third  bull's- 
eye  from  the  bottom,  was  instantly  trans- 
formed into  a  single  concentrated  beam.  The 
heat-ray  impinged  upon  the  boss  of  fusible 
metal.  I  saw  the  alloy  begin  to  melt.  I 
turned  and  ran  into  the  other  room. 

"Twenty  minutes  of  silence  and  then  I  re- 
entered.  I  was  horribly  afraid,  but  he  sat  there 
quiet  and  still.  I  unwound  the  cord  and  threw 
it  out  of  the  window.  It  was  clouding  over  in 
earnest  now.  These  March  days  are  so  change- 
able. 

"It  is  close  to  two  o'clock,  and  I  must  be 
getting  ready  to  depart.  I  have  set  the  clock- 
case  out  in  the  passageway,  and  the  lids  and 
screws  are  in  readiness.  The  expressman  will 
doubtless  be  punctual.  He  will  carry  the  case 
down-stairs  and  load  it  on  his  wagon.  I  shall 
be  delivered  in  due  course  at  my  destination. 
What  is  it  to  be?  Well,  I  shall  have  plenty  of 
time  in  which  to  reflect  upon  the  possibilities 
of  the  journey  that  lies  before  me. 
301 


The    Gates    of    Chance 

"  One  moment  in  which  to  seal  up  these  notes, 
together  with  the  bundle  of  securities.  Fort- 
unately, I  have  a  special-delivery  stamp  in  my 
pocket,  and  I  can  post  the  packet  in  the  mail- 
chute.  Best  wishes,  my  dear  Thorp,  for  the 
future  happiness  of  yourself  and  your  charm- 
ing wife.  You  have  now  given  a  hostage  to 
fortune  and  will  no  longer  care  to  sail  on  uncer- 
tain seas.  But  the  Wanderlust  in  my  blood 
seems  to  be  ineradicable.  Again  the  gates  of 
chance  are  opening  before  me  and  I  am  eager 
to  enter  in.  Good-bye." 

Here  the  record  ends  abruptly.  And  there 
has  been  no  sequel.  Not  the  slightest  sound  nor 
sign  has  been  vouchsafed  from  the  void.  He 
who  was  Esper  Indiman  is  gone,  like  a  stone 
dropped  into  the  gulf,  and  I  have  lost  some- 
thing that  is  not  easily  replaced  —  a  friend. 
But  since  it  is  his  wish,  there  is  nothing  more 
to  be  said.  He  may  return — a  message  may 
come — 

The  gates  of  chance!    Well,  it  is  exactly  a 

year  and  a  day  since  that  eventful  afternoon 

when  Esper  Indiman's  visiting-card  was  thrust 

into  my  unconscious  hand.     I  have  travelled 

302 


The    Adjuster    of   Aoerages 

along  some  strange  ways  in  the  course  of  that 
twelvemonth,  and  henceforth  I  shall  be  content 
to  trudge  along  the  common  high-road  of  life. 
The  gates  of  chance — for  me  they  are  closed 
forever.  But  I  look  over  at  my  wife's  dear  face 
and  know  that  it  is  better  so. 


THE  END 


A     000  036  646     8 


